


I Think I'll Stay

by goobzoop



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Humor, Lassie!sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Shawn!Dom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobzoop/pseuds/goobzoop
Summary: Lassiter is wound up tight enough to snap and Shawn knows just the way to ease the tension.Edit: sorry I haven’t updated this is a while, I will circle back to it in the future!
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, Shawn Spencer/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 73





	1. You Only Need to Ask

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to [vulcanhighblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanhighblood/pseuds/vulcanhighblood) for betaing this fic and providing me with all sorts of insight and awesomeness. You rock!
> 
> Please read the tags!

A yellow striped belly mosquito zips up and perches on Shawn’s leg, unfurls its tongue, and sticks. Shawn _screeches._ He kicks out his foot, his sandal goes flying into sand below the boardwalk, and he bangs his toe on the railing. “Frosted fruit loops! _OW!_ ”

His toe throbs, red and swollen, like an angry jelly bean. “Oh, my— ow, ow, ow!”

On the walk home, he has only one sandal. 

For the past two months, he’s been back in Santa Barbara and the novelty is starting to wear off. He doesn’t miss any place in particular; he didn’t make any strong ties on his tour de America, but he’s itching to get going. He visited Henry and he made the rounds; he stopped by the boardwalk, the spot by the bridge were he and Gus used to sit and dare each other to jump in, and the local Jamba Juice. The red head with the curls is still working there and she actually remembers him.

He hasn’t been to see Gus. 

He doesn’t know if he will. He could hop on his bike and be out of town by nightfall, a million miles down the highway, and Gus would be none the wiser. 

Instead of thinking about it, he shoves his ugly swollen toe into a sock and shoves his guilt to the back of his mind. 

The only other productive thing he’s done (if you could call it that) was burn through half of the more appealing profiles on Grindr. There was Dan the surfer dude with the 6-pack that looked sinful covered in a sheen of sweat, Nicholas who had more of a runner’s body and without a doubt a runner’s endurance, and a handful of other hunky men. 

It’s fun for what it is. A tumble in the sack never fails to pump up Shawn’s mood. Like a fine tuned guitar, he strums out his best melodies after a good wind up. 

But Dan and Nicholas both brushed him off this week. 

Grindr’s black and orange colors flash on his phone like sexy Halloween and he starts swiping. Half of the profiles are no good, some of them he already _knows_ are good, and, oh, a new one— now _that_ is a profile. 

Tall, stocky build with a bit of mystery that even he can’t crack. Every photo is lacking for personal detail. Shawn hardly cares, though, he doesn’t need to profile the man in order to sleep with him. The broad chest and forest of manly hair that he wants to run his fingers through is enough to make him antsy.

Setting up a time is easy enough. Mystery Man is straightforward and clearly in the mood.

He strolls up to his apartment later in the evening with a pocket stuffed with condoms and a pineapple in his arms. You can’t come empty handed, afterall, not even to a one night stand.

Mystery Man opens the door and _wow_. Shawn, for the first time, is speechless. Don’t get him wrong, the speech comes back immediately, there’s no keeping him down, but there isn’t one single thing he can think to say that would do this man justice. 

He’s got at least 6 inches on him, and he wants to climb up each one. He’s bigger than him, too, and he’s handsome in the sort of way that you can’t hate. Plus, along with being show-stoppingly strapping, he’s smart. Shawn can tell. 

His apartment screams public servant, control freak, educated. Shawn is surprised he’s into it. He’s _really_ into it. 

“Well hello, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Are you going to invite me in, or am I going to have to get started out here?”

“That’s public indecency,” he doesn’t hesitate to scoff. Right, a cop, Shawn is sure of it. 

Curious that he’s so liberal about his sexuality, then, Shawn thinks, but he isn’t about to poke a sleeping bear. He slips in the doorway without invitation because it doesn't look like he’s going to get one.

“Soo… you have a name?” He sets the pineapple down on the counter and already it’s the brightest thing in the room. 

His posture is stiff and awkward. “Lassiter.” 

“No first name?”

“No.”

“Okay, Lassiter. So, I’m guessing you dont do this often, huh?”

“Let’s skip the small talk. I don’t care about your favorite fruit, what kind of motorcycle you drive, or when you came out of the closet. Got it?”

“You saw my motorcycle. So are interested! _You_ looked out the window.” He says with a smug smile, and steps closer. 

“Listen, twerp—”

“Shawn.”

“Listen, Shawn, I suggest you either shut up or you leave because I do _not_ want to deal with this right now. And I will kick you out of here with force if I have to.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you will. I can see six concealed weapons just from where I’m standing. I bet you’ve got a pair of handcuffs in here somewhere, too.”

He narrows his eyes. “And I’m not afraid to restrain you with them.”

Shawn steps forward. “Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t have much in the way of cuffs, but I can show you what this mouth can do, and I won’t need restraints to have you with your hands behind your back begging for mercy.” 

“I—” Lassiter stutters. 

“Not complaining now, are you?”

Lassiter backs up. “I’m not a b—” 

Shawn grins like he knows a secret. “Oh yes you are.” 

“I _top._ ”

“No, you think you’re _supposed_ to top. I only needed two minutes looking at you to know you're a bottom. Let loose, Lassie, I’ll take care of you. I know what you need.”

Lassiter scoffs, squaring his shoulders. “This is ridiculous. Get out.”

“No.” Shawn steps closer. He’s spent his whole life rebelling against police officers. He’s so far from intimidated you couldn’t even see it through a pair of binoculars. He’s got his hand holding Lassie’s chin with a firm grip -not enough to bruise, but enough to keep him from moving- and he licks his lips like it’s a demonstration. 

There go his pupils. _Good,_ Shawn thinks, _He’s easy to rile up._

Lassiter plants his hands on his chest and shoves him back, though. Shawn is genuinely surprised, and more than a little turned on. 

“Lassie! Don’t be like that. We’re just having some fun!” 

Lassiter folds his arms and holds Shawn’s gaze with hard eyes. “Get lost, Shawn, I mean it.” 

“No you don’t,” Shawn says, ausosal lining his voice. It’s deep and smooth and Lassiter flinches at the sound of it. 

This time Shawn is the one using force, and he pushes Lassie against the counter, looking up at him with intention blazing in his eyes. He’s got just one second before Lassie is sure to push him off, and he uses it to attack his neck like a teen girl’s wet dream of a blood-thirsty vampire, all teeth and lips and spit and sucking, and it does it the trick. Lassie goes slack underneath him; hands that were squeezing his shoulders and about to push back soften, and now they’re just holding on. His head tips back ever so slightly. Shawn lets his neck go with a wet smack of lips, and licks a stripe where his new bruise is forming. 

“No— no hickeys. Goddamnit, Shawn.”

“I needed _one_ , Lass,” he purrs into the space between his neck and ear as he licks his way up. He’s got his teeth nipping at Lassie’s ear lobe, licking it, and then breathing hot and heavy right up against him so the sound of his arousal is the only thing he can hear. 

“It’s _Lassiter—”_

Shawn pants and speaks right in his ear, firm and smooth at the same time, like a command doused in honey, and Lassie visibly shivers. “Come on, Lassie, let me make you feel good.”

“I’m not submissive, Shawn,” he moans as shawn pushes his hips forward, “I’ll make you— _oh._ ”

Shawn snickers, he’s got Lassie right where he wants him. He’s got his fingers prying open the box where Lassie keeps all his best kept secrets. Everyone has a little box labeled ‘Do Not Touch’ where everything they’re too embarrassed to admit lives. Shawn has never been one to heed warnings, though, and he’s _very_ good at picking locks.

Lassie, who could easily bend him in half, crumples. _Shawn_ is in control. “Good boy,” he says, and boy, that is the _right_ thing to say. It’s the last thing Lassie wants to hear but exactly the thing he needs to. Lassie is mumbling breathy and low about how he doesn’t need Shawn to tell him that, but the way his eyes flutter closed and pants grow considerably tighter say otherwise. 

“Oh yes, you do.” Shawn whispers with a smile. 

Lassie _whimpers._

Shawn’s still got his face buried into the side of Lassie’s neck, and a hand gripping firmly on the back of his head, fingers sifting through his short regulation-cut hair. He’s not sure how fast he can take this without scaring Lassie off, but he slides a hand down to his ass anyway, because there's no time like the present, and Lassie is going to have to learn to give in to his wants quickly or they’re not going to have any fun tonight at all. 

Shawn really wants to have some fun. 

It’s a pleasant surprise that he lets his head fall forward, and the ghost of a moan escapes from his lips. That’s as good an invitation as any, and Shawn uses his grip on the back of his neck to bring his face back up to press their lips together for the first time. It’s hot and wet. He tastes like cinnamon which is unexpected, but strangely arousing. 

Lassie leans into the kiss, demands control, pushes so hard against Shawn he nearly stumbles. Shawn lets him, knows he’s overcompensating, can feel it in his posture. All it takes is a little time to wait it out before Lassie is getting lost in the kiss and mindlessly receding. 

The way Shawn feels Lassie’s breath humid and against him, the slip of their tongues against each other, the scratchy hint of five o'clock shadows rubbing together, it’s more than he can bear. This time Shawn crushes his lips harder against Lassie’s; it’s almost bruising. It’s demanding, and he gives whatever it is Shawn is asking for.

“So good, Lass,” Shawn says, “Show me your bedroom.” 

With a grin, Shawn follows Lassie. Leading him down the hall with intent, Lassie doesn’t show a hint of reluctance, just tugs on Shawn’s wrist like he’s a criminal being taken to the cell. Strong, purposeful, _eager._

It’s not a cell though, and far from it, it’s the place where Shawn intends to screw him silly. 

“You know what it was about your profile that really did it for me?” Shawn asks when he’s got Lassie standing in front of the bed, “That gorgeous chest hair. Arguably better than Tom Selleck in Magnum PI.” He’s grinning, but Lassie is rolling his eyes, mumbling something about being serious, and Shawn can do that, but, “C’mon, Lass, where’s the fun in that?”

“Sex isn’t _fun_ , it’s not a game, Shawn,” Lassie grumbles, “Be serious.”

“I beg to differ, Mr. GrumpyPants. Now take off your shirt so I can see up close and personal that godly chest,” he smirks, and he knows that Lassie is too far into this to back out now, despite all the resistance he’s throwing up. 

He unbuttons slow like he’s got all the time in the world, even folds up his shirt and lays it on the bed. Shawn doesn’t notice, even when he notices _everything_ , because he’s got his eyes glued to the little trail of hair disappearing under his belt, and it’s all he can focus on. 

Lassie is squirming. He pushes him back onto the bed and he falls on his ass unceremoniously. Shawn uses his flustered state to swiftly unlatch his belt and tug his pants clean off. “Hey—!” 

“What, were you planning on keeping those on, officer?” Shawn smirks. That was a little risky, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take it. 

“Stop,” Lassie sneers, “I’m not a cop right now.”

“You’re always a cop, Lass, I even see it in the way you move. It’s _sexy.”_

“I’m not even a cop, anyway; you’re an idiot.” 

Shawn raises an eyebrow. “No?” Lassie is laying back in just his boxers and Shawn is fully dressed, but for a second he feels like the one put on the spot. “You’re too young to be chief, or a detective, so, what, Municipal? State Trooper? You wouldn't do that, though, you’re way too much of a hardass.”

Lassie huffs, shoots him a glare meant to kill, “I told you to let it be.” 

Shawn can’t, never could. He’s sure he’s on the money when he grins and says, “Right. Well, detective, I never could mind my own business.” 

Lassie’s face hardens again, the same way it did when Shawn first mentioned the title of detective, and he’s getting red in the face. Shawn wonders if he’s gone too far, maybe he’ll be thrown out this time for real, but he’s a sucker for angry sex and the temperature is just about right. 

“Did you look me up?”

Shawn steps forward, he’s towering over Lassie on the bed, and gives a good tug to his boxer briefs, brings them down past his knees and bites his lip at what's been waiting for him underneath. 

“Look you up? When would I have had time to do that? When I was standing in your living room devouring your neck? I only just learned your name ten minutes ago, Lass. Hey, maybe I’m a detective too.”

“You?” he scoffs, “Oh, please, you’re an immature, probably unemployed, idiot.”

“Those are some big words coming from someone completely naked and at the mercy of said immature idiot,” Shawn grins. He pulls his own shirt off and grabs Lassie’s thigh in his hand. Lassie is sitting up again, so Shawn pushes him down, liking the way acceptance creeps up on his features as he does it. Lassie is _so_ a submissive. He just needs to let the control he usually clings to _go_. 

Shawn uses his strength to pull Lassie down the bed so he’s laying at the edge and has his legs wrapped around him where he's standing. 

“Shut it, Shawn. Just— just get on with it.” He glares up at him. His pupils are the size of the moon. His glare looks more like a _plea._

“Is that you asking me to fuck you, Lassie?” 

“ _No._ ” 

“No? Oh, okay,” Shawn says, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and he starts to back up only to be stopped by Lassie’s legs rooting him to the spot. “What…? You want something? If you want something, you only need to ask. It’s that simple. Otherwise...”

Lassie’s cock twitches on his belly, “Fine!” 

“Fine?” 

“ _Fine._ ” 

“Fine, what?”

“Fine…” Lassie hisses, then drops to a whisper, “fuck me.”

Shawn grins. He’s ecstatic. He’s got him. “What’s that?” 

Lassie growls. He’s gripping the sheets, red faced again, “Fuck you, Shawn! I’m not asking again.”

“Just one more, Lassie, I didn't hear you.” He runs his hand down Lassie’s thigh, it’s smooth yet hairy, and strong with muscle. He feels the heat of his balls, the soft skin of them, and squeezes them gently in his hand. Lassie turns his head and moans, but he doesn’t say it. 

He spits on his hand, wraps it around the base of Lass’s twitchy cock and strokes. He bucks his hips into it, and Shawn smiles. He’s got his eyes closed and this time his hands are gripping the sheets from pleasure instead of anger. 

Shawn slips down to his knees. “S’okay, Lass. You don’t have to ask right _now_ ,” he says against his balls with hot breath. He gives them a drawn out lick, barely reaches the base of his cock, and plunges lower. 

“Neeugh! — _oh!_ ”

Shawn chuckles into his ass as he laps his tongue over his hole. “Such a good boy, you taste so good,” he murmurs, and silences whatever retaliation is coming with his tongue again, pressing against his tight little hole, tracing the ring of muscle, but not quite pushing in. He’s got his nose pressed up against Lass’s skin, and he smells musky in the way that only a man could, but he’s also got the freshness of a shower right below it, and shawn almost laughs because he can recognize the citrusy spice of Irish Spring soap anywhere, and he doesn’t even have a super smeller. It’s nice. 

He’s got Lassie’s bottom covered slick in spit, but so is half of his face, and he doesn’t mind one bit. Hell, the sloppier the better. 

“Ah, Shawn,” he’s crying out now, hips coming off the bed, eyes closed, giving into the sensation.

Shawn pulls back, blows softly on it, and watches as he twitches from the cold air. Then he plunges his tongue _in_. He hears a gasp, wiggles his tongue, takes it out, repeats it. Grips the insides of Lassie’s thighs, spreads them wide, takes what he wants. He takes exactly what Lassie doesn’t want to give, not yet, except he’s still moaning and writhing around in the sheets like a bug. 

He’ll be begging any second now. 

Shawn moans into it as he tongue fucks him, sends vibrations up his body, watches as he reacts. It’s a wet dream to Shawn, watching this hard-ass detective let go, a wet dream to take him, and he purposely doesn’t stop to wonder why, just accepts that it’s driving him mad, and keeps licking. 

“Shawn, Shawn— please, ah—” 

He’s got his tongue shoved way up inside him, and he pulls out, stands up, ready to _go._ The wad of condoms he brought is burning a hole in his pocket, and he tears one open after he shucks off his jeans, slides it on his neglected cock, and presses his tip up to the hole he just made out with. “Lube?”

Lassie reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a bottle of lube (The one that he probably thought he’d be using on his own dick) and tosses it at him. 

“You ready, Lass? You want me?” 

Lassie has his legs wide open, and his arms thrown back. He’s looking at Shawn with defiance, and lust, and a whole lot of neediness. “Just do it,” he says, “now.”

Shawn rubs his tip wet against his puckered up little hole, watches the way it relaxes against him. “Nuh-uh, bug, tell me.”

Shawn’s tip is pressing just _so_ up against him, it’s _almost there._

“Damnit, Shawn, Fuck me!” he whines with a little push of his hips, trying to get Shawn inside of him, and it’s so much hotter the second time around. 

The first was wanting, but with the second he’s got Shawn’s cock pressed up against him, and he’s asking for it _specifically._ He wants to feel him push in and _take him_. “Shawn, fuck me, please.” 

Shawn’s got this feeling swelling inside of him akin to satisfaction, or who knows, maybe he’s a little bit proud of Lassie for letting go. “Please?” he chuckles. He’s breathless, “So polite.”

He gives Lassie what he’s begging for. He presses in slow; Lassie is still inexperienced, and he needs this to be good. But it’s fast enough for him, because he’s groaning like a tugboat in high-sea. 

Feeling Lassie stretch around him is intoxicating. He’s nearly all the way in. He’s so tight. “You got it, bug, that’s it,” he praises mindlessly, “so good, so good.” Lassie loves it too, moans in response to it, bucks his hips, gets red in the face, and this time it isn’t anger, it’s either embarrassment or pleasure, Shawn can’t tell. 

Lassie is grabbing at his erection, and Shawn shoos him away, tutting at him with a hint of disapproval. “Hands off, Lass. That’s mine,” he says, wrapping his hand around him and stroking in tandem with his thrusts.

Shawn pushes him further back on the bed and climbs on after him, getting close and kissing while moving in and out at a steady pace. Lassie whimpers. He’s squirming. Shawn is stroking and thrusting and kissing, and it’s undoing him completely.

“Mh, so handsome,” Shawn mumbles, halfway scrambled, stuck in a rhythm, “Good boy, bug, God, you take my cock so well.” 

Lassie’s eyes are rolling back in his head. He’s not making any coherent sentenches, just breahy curses and pleading, _yes, fuck, please, yes, yes, yes!_

Shawn’s got him. Shawn’s got him exposed like a nerve and he wants to end this just right. “I got you, Lass,” he cooes in his ear, “Time to cum.” It’s soft and suggestive, but it’s an order, and Lassie gives in without hesitation, splattering his cum up his own chest as Shawn squeezes his tip in the most amazing way. It tangles in his chest hair. It’s wet and warm and gooey. 

Shawn lets his forehead fall against Lassie’s and he cums hard on a deep thrust, then crumples to the bed beside him. They’re both sweaty and covered in cum. Shawn pulls his head up and captures Lassie in a fevered kiss, infused with gratitude and good intentions, swiping his tongue along his lower lip and moaning. It’s quite possibly the best sex that he’s has had all year and he’d be a fool not to appreciate it. 

Lassie looks a little blown away himself, and that look only gets stronger as Shawn leans over to lick his cum off his chest; hair, sweat, and all, “Good boy, Lass.”

It takes a moment for Lassie to come back down to Earth, but when he does he meets Shawn with a dopey grin and eyes that are far softer than before. “Hey.” 

“Hey, Lass. Good, huh?” 

He rolls his eyes but he’s not fooling anyone. “It wasn’t terrible.” 

“I’ll take that as a ‘Thank you Shawn, that was the best sex of my life, you’re a God among men, even hotter than Val Kilmer in his prime.’”

Lassie snorts. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh, really? So you are a Kilmer fan! I knew it.”

“I never said—”

“You don’t say a lot of things,” he winks. 

Shawn leans over and kisses him on the cheek. It’s slow and warm, not at all like the hot and heavy ones they shared all night. 

Lassie pulls back. His eyes look cold. Icy blue, not warm like the summer sea the way they were a minute ago. “I think you should go now.” 

“Go?” Shawn wrinkles his brow, an unfamiliar feeling unfurling in his belly.

He wants to _stay_.

He hasn’t been this caught up in the moment in a while. That’s how hookups go, though, you fuck and then you leave, that’s it. Sometimes you come back for more, but you don’t stay the night. 

Ergo, Lassie asking him to go isn’t unusual. He never stays the night with Nicolas. He never stays with Dan, never wants to. 

So why does he feel like cuddling up and falling asleep next to this hardass cop with a gooey core? (A very hard to find core, but it’s there)

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” he mutters instead of whining like a child the way he wants to, because he’s aware that his feelings are hurt. Rejection is new, too. Maybe that’s why he always leaves before dust is settled. “I’ll go now.” 

“Sorry, it’s just—”

“No, I know. It’s just a hookup.”

Lassie nods, “Exactly.”

Shawn hops up from bed with a fake smile. “Alright, Lass. I’ll get out of your hair! Even if there isn’t much to get out of,” he says, grabbing his pants off the floor, “See you around!”

And he’s not sure if Lassie wants to, but he’s got his home address, so there’s that. 

It’s only 11pm. Shawn revs up his engine and heads for the backroads. He can’t shake those eyes from his mind. It feels like the kind of night that will stick with him for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up soon. :)


	2. Yeah, I know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn sees Gus, and Shawn sees more of Lassssie.
> 
> Edit: Sorry, had to delete/reupload the same chapter (ch.2) so only one update!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the same vein that a group of doves is called a flock, a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope
> 
> And thanks again to [vulcanhighblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanhighblood/pseuds/vulcanhighblood) for betaing this fic! You're great!

“Gus!” 

“...Shawn? Is that you?” 

“In the flesh! _My_ flesh, not just _the_ flesh. That could be anybody’s. Nope, this is my own.”

Gus leans against the doorway, arms crossed. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” he grins, “I’m here to see my best friend!” 

“What are you doing back in Santa Barbara?”

“You know, just living life. Seeing where the wind takes me. And the wind is blowing particularly hard here up to your doorstep.”

Gus doesn’t look amused. Shawn doesn’t blame him. He left him in the dust without so much as a goodbye. “Are you staying…?”

“Duh!” Shawn grins, then quiets down and shuts his mouth, opens it back up, scuffs his feet against the ground. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m going to stay for a while.”

Gus glares at him for a long moment, but lets it drop. “Alright, fine. Come on in.”

“Yes! Gus! I missed you, man.”

“And?”

“I’m only going to say this once!” Shawn throws his arm up in the air, gliding through the hall like they never missed a beat, “It’s once in a lifetime. Monumental, really. Grab some popcorn, even.” Shawn spins around, and finds Gus standing right behind him with a deadpan face. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I shouldn’t have just left like that. I mean, I could have at least said goodbye, I realize that. It’s just… I had to _go_. I had to get out of here, I can’t explain it. I felt… I don’t know, but it wasn’t working,” he lets out a long breath, “Sorry. ”

Gud nods his head. “Once is all I need. We’re good.” 

“We’re good? Does that mean we can take bubble baths together again?” 

“Shawn, we haven’t done that since we were two years old, and we only know about it because of the baby pictures. Don’t make me change my mind.”

“I’m just sayin’ we looked like we were having fun. Maybe it’s worth a try.”

“I’m straight, Shawn.”

“There’s nothing gay about two grown men in a bubble bath!” he laughs, “Gus! Wait! Where are you going?! You can’t leave your own apartment!”

“Watch me, Shawn!”

. . . 

Gus can only hang out with Shawn for so long. It’s not like he doesn’t have a whole new life, you know. Shawn knows he wasn’t going to be frozen in an ice cube just waiting to be unthawed when he came back, but he did sort of think that he’d have a little bit more time for him.

He doesn’t feel like a big enough asshole to crash his trivia night either, nor does he want to inevitably embarrass him in front of his new friends, because he’s positive that’s what he’d end up doing, and he’s already treading on thin ice as it is. 

So… he goes for a ride. Watches some television, pretends he isn’t crashing at his childhood home. 

Messages Lassie. Waits for an answer. Rushes over as soon as he gets one. 

It’s only been three days since he’s seen Lassie, and Lassie didn’t _technically_ invite him over, but ‘what do you want?’ Is a good enough invitation in his book. 

He knocks on the door. There’s some scuffling around, a pause, and the door swinging open. Lassie’s tucking a gun in the back of his waistband. It was subtle, but Shawn thrives on subtlety. 

“Wow, Lass, people usually don’t bring out the guns until the third date,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. He really doesn’t want to be turned away. 

Lassie looks him up and down. He doesn’t look pleased, but Shawn hasn’t seen him look pleased yet. (Except for when he had him on his back)

“What, Shawn? Why are you here?”

“Wow, I’m getting that a lot lately,” he says, “I’m here to see you, of course. Can I come in?”

Lassie runs a hand through his hair, it’s dark and a bit disheveled. “Didn’t stop you last time.”

“Yeah, well, I’m nothing if not polite.” 

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” Shawn says, stepping inside and closing the door, “I’m not.” 

“So…” Lassie walks into the kitchen, and hides his gun in an empty box of cereal. “I’ll ask again: why are you here, Shawn?”

“To fuck you.” He says. It’s the safest answer. 

Lassie looks up, eyes wide. “Is that so?”

Shawn leans back against his couch. “Yeah, it is.” 

“Maybe _I’ll_ fuck _you_.” Lassie’s voice is lower, almost shaky. 

“Maybe you will. I won’t stop you,” Shawn grins and crosses his arms, “Fuck me, Lass. Is that what you really want?” 

Lassie scoffs and looks away. “Go away, Shawn.” 

“Again with sending me away? I thought we already established I’m not going anywhere.” Shawn stands up from the edge of the couch and meets Lassie at the opposite side of the kitchen counter. “Or that it’s not what you really want. Come here.”

Lassie rolls his eyes but leans forward over the counter, meets him halfway, and Shawn kisses him. 

Shawn’s got a firm grip on his tie and holds him in place, exploring his mouth. “Mm, you taste like cinnamon.”

Lassie tries to back up but Shawn’s still holding tight on his tie. “Nuh-uh, Lass. I’m not done with you, come on, kiss me.” 

He does. It’s kissing just for the sake of kissing. Lassie backs up as soon as Shawn lets go. Shawn is panting, and his heart is beating fast. 

So is Lassie’s, he feels it in his chest. 

“You know, I’m a sucker for grumpy Irish men.”

Lassie loosens his tie. “I'm not grumpy.” He’s rounding the counter and eyeing Shawn. 

“Oh yeah you are, Lass. You’ve got a huuuuuge stick up your butt, and it isn’t the fun kind,” he winks, “I bet those are the clothes you wore to work. Why didn’t you change, man? Put on some sweats, basketball shorts, hell, a banana hammock. That’d be hot actually— Do you have one of those?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“No, I’m a dreamer,” he grins. “You know what else I dream about? Those big blue eyes of yours wrecked and looking up at me from the floor.” 

Lassie goes red all the way down to his neck. 

“You know, I actually know a way to help with that stick _and_ my dreams at the same time.” 

“Do you?” Lassie asks, but he barely needs to. The answer is hanging right there in the air. 

“Mhm. You need to relax, Lass. You’re wound up all day dealing with criminals. You have to be tough, can’t waver for even a second. You’re head honcho, you’ve got people depending on you, looking up to you. It must be exhausting.”

“Well…”

“You can let it down with me.” Shawn says, stepping closer so that there’s hardly any distance at all between them, “I’ll take care of everything. No more thinking about putting up a front. I’ve got you.” 

“Shawn… I just want to fuck, it’s not—“

“We are! This is me fucking. Plus extra. Just a little bit extra. Just let me? Please? Just here, when you’re at home, let me take care of you? No strings, just… an arrangement.” 

He thinks he understands enough to help Lassie let his inhibitions go, at least for a while, and sometimes just a while is all you need to feel normal. 

“I…”

“I swear Lass, if you try to say you’re not submissive, I’ll scream.” 

Lassie scoffs, “I wasn’t.” 

“Oh, good,” Shawn laughs, “So you’re past that, okay.”

“I’m not past— no, I was going to say… I’ll give it a try. Trial run.”

“A week?” 

“A _week?_ “ lassie scoffs, “No. A month. What on Earth would get done in a week? I’m a busy man, Shawn, I don’t lay around waiting to get fucked.”

“That’d be nice if you did, though.”

Lassie scoffs. 

“It would! Think about it: you naked and sprawled out, begging for big, brawny Shawn to come fill you up with his monster cock. Maybe Val Kilmer in the kitchen cooking eggs in just an apron that's one size too small. Yeah, I think you with no job would be great.”

“Shut it, Shawn.” He sighs. Shawn is surprised he hasn’t kicked him out yet because he’s nervous and rambling, but Lassie is actually pretty mellow at home, at least compared to the hard-ass image of him that he’s built up in his head. 

“No, you, Lass,” he smirks, “C’mere, then, if you’ll really let me take care of you. I’ll make you forget everything.” 

Lassie blushes again and follows Shawn over to his couch. “Yeah… yeah, okay.” He goes to sit down but Shawn catches his hand and tugs him lower, guides him to the floor, onto his knees in front of him. 

Lassie licks his lips and Shawn has to bite back a laugh because Lassie _knows_ what’s coming. 

Shawn spreads his legs, unzips his pants, and tugs them down. Lass grabs and pulls them down further, then settles in between his knees. “You’ve been a good boy since I saw you last?” Shawn asks. He’s got one hand running through Lassie's hair, and the other trailing a thumb along his bottom lip. 

“I…”

Shawn knows he’ll say it. “Tell me.”

Lassie gulps. 

“ _Tell_ me, bug.”

There’s that blush again, red and hot. He’s squirming on his knees, “I’ve been… a good boy.”

“Mmh, yes you have. So, so good.” He dips his thumb past Lassie's lip and presses down on it, gaping his mouth just slightly. Lassie has his eyes trained on his cock, they’re unwavering and dilated wide. Shawn pulls his hand back and gives himself a stroke, presses with his wet thumb against his tip and massages. Lassie whimpers. 

“You want something?” He asks. 

Lassie nods. 

Shawn smiles. “I know you do. Come here and suck my cock.”

He’s up and flush against the couch as he positions his mouth above his pulsing cock, then he’s licking a stripe from the base all the way to the tip, wet and warm. 

“I said suck, Lass, not lick.”

Lassie huffs, “Shawn, you’re—“

“Nu-uh, Lass.” He says, “Shhh.”

“I can—“ Lassie says, but Shawn raises an eyebrow and he stops. He takes Shawn in his mouth instead and sinks down on it, takes as much of him as he can like he’s got something to prove. 

He sputters and gags, pops up and sucks in air. 

“Oh, you haven’t done this before, have you?” Shawn asks, but it’s not really a question. “Okay. That’s okay, you’ll get better. Start slow, alright?”

Lassie looks like he was about to kick back, but he doesn’t, just goes softer this time and not as deep. 

“Good boy, Lass,” his voice is marred, “Good boy. So good. Take it easy, go slow. You got it.”

Lassie bobs his head, eyes shut tight, and works. 

“Do what feels good for you, don’t worry about me.” Shawn coos, “I want you to like it. You’re going to cum just to the thought of it one day.” 

Lassie hums a little in reply and moves his tongue. 

“Mmh, there you go.” 

Shawn has him suck until his jaw starts showing signs of getting sore, and he stops him. Lassie looks confused, but Shawn tells him he did a great job, and he’s got more in store for him than just cumming down his throat. 

His eyes perk up at that. He watches Shawn, tries to anticipate what’s coming, but Shawn doesn’t give him time, just yanks him up by the tie that’s still around his neck and pushes him onto the couch. 

He reaches around and unbuckles his belt, tugs down his pants, shimmys them off, tells Lassie to take his shirt off and he does. 

With his knees on the couch and his chest pressed up against the coushion, Shawn slides up behind him. Shawn saddles his knees on the outside of Lassie’s and lines his cock up to his ass. “Ready, Lass?”

“Yes—“ he says, breathy and wanting, “yes, please.”

Shawn chuckles, snakes his head down to kiss at his neck. “Hold on to the back of the couch and don’t let go,” he says. He slips his cock in slick with lube and starts pumping. He keeps going, going, _going,_ fucking in until he’s out of breath and sweaty. Lassie’s thighs are shaking. Lassie isn’t saying a word, isn’t pretending it isn’t amazing, he’s just got his head tipped back on Shawn's chest with a pleased little smile. He hasn’t let go of the couch just like he was told, and Shawn tells him he's a god boy for it. He puts his hands over Lassie’s and takes them off, wraps his arms with Lassie's hands still in his around Lassie’s midsection and fucks him slow and deliberate. 

With each thrust he nibbles and kisses his sweaty neck, licks it and moans. He tells him how he’s safe and how he’s got nothing to worry about. Tells him to focus on his cock, on the rhythm and nothing else. He keeps it steady and slow despite how much he wants to start hammering in again, because he wants Lass to feel the rocking of his hips like the rocking of waves against a ship and to know they’re the only two out there on the ocean, just him and Shawn and the waves. 

Lassie closes his eyes, nuzzles his head back, leans his weight against Shawn (who’s far shorter than Lass and really has to focus on keeping his balance supporting him) and Shawn knows he’s done good. He keeps going until Lassie is whimpering. He tells him to cum, so with a relieved moan he does, and he cums all over the couch cushion. 

Spencer grins. He’s stupid happy and he fucks in a few times at the same pace before he blows his load. Somehow it’s even better than the first time. 

He pulls out, gets up, and tosses the condom. Lassie is still on his knees on the couch, and he brings back a washcloth to clean him up. Lassie lets him wipe his thighs and belly and ass without a word. 

When he comes back again, Lassie is sitting down on the couch, and Shawn takes his chances sitting down next to him and pulling a throw over top. He scoots closer and pulls Lassie against his chest. Lassie doesn’t protest. Shawn smiles and rests his head against the top of his. They’re _cuddling_ and it’s sweet enough to make Shawn's heart beat fast and hard in his chest. He only hopes Lassies doesn’t notice. 

“Shawn…” Lassie says, voice still soft. 

“Hmm?” 

Lassie looks up at him, and Shawn can see a certain sadness of his mouth. “You’ve got to go.”

Something inside him falls. 

“Yeah, I know. I’ll go.” 

It’s another good night for a drive.


	3. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassie 'n Shawnie talk n do other no-no activities

"Detective Lassiter! Get in here!”

Lassiter shoots up from his desk. “Yes, Chief? Do we have a case?” 

“We do, where’s Lucinda? She needs to be here too. There’s been a robbery turned murder at the Jewelers on Bay Ave. One casualty, a civilian. Two workers have minor injuries. There was seventeen thousand worth of merchandise taken. 

“Any suspects?” Lassiter asks. A glimpse of blonde passes by the office and he motions for his partner. She’s got two coffees and she hands one to him. 

“What’s going on, Chief?” She looks at Vick with a hard stare. 

“Major robbery. One victim, civilian, gunshot. Lassiter will catch you up on the rest. For now, we need you two at the crime scene going over evidence, and I want a statement from the manager that was there at the time.”

“Yes, Chief,” Lassiter says, halfway out the door. Before his coffee can even cool he’s by his Crown Vic and Lucinda is breaking out into a jog to catch up. 

They’re at the crime scene within ten minutes. Lassiter takes a sip of coffee before getting out of the car and burns his tongue. It’s accompanied by a loud swear. 

It was a clean job. Security footage was swiped. Glass counters were wiped. As per the employees present, the assailant was wearing a mask. An average John Doe, 5’11”, all in black, no tattoos or otherwise identifiable markings. Used a Glock G19. 

Half the criminals in Santa Barbara carry an unregistered Glock G19, Lassiter huffs. Couldn’t these low lives be any more original? 

He bags a torn stop of cloth and hands it off to evidence. There’s no overwhelming feeling of accomplishment leaving the scene of the crime, and Lassiter doesn’t want to think about the fact that he doesn’t have any strong leads, but he does, because that’s his job. Detective work isn’t the type of thing that you can shove to the side and come back to when you’re good and ready. It’s _here_ and it's _now._ A civilian was _murdered._

Crime scene files sit on his kitchen table later in the evening. He can’t let it go. Can’t make any sense of it. 

Only one perp seen at what would usually be a two to four man job? Where were the rest of the perps? Where was the sloppy evidence left behind? No one is _this_ good. 

They are, though, and that’s what frustrates Lassiter. He wants to knock back a beer or seven, but he’d be useless in the morning if he let himself do that. Instead he rakes his fingers through his hair and groans. 

The job is relentless. 

Another day comes, another day goes. He’s no closer to finding the killer than he was at the start. The fabric turned up nothing, the eye witness accounts were worthless, and there was still no possible motive scoped out beyond money. 

Everyone in the station seems to be avoiding him, too. Even Lucinda is steering clear. He’d yelled at Buzz so loud the third floor must have heard, and he’s snapped at anyone who dared come up to his desk. 

Chief Vick, no, _Interim_ Chief Vick, pulls him aside after he finishes another interrogation on a customer present at the scene. 

With her finger pointed directly between his eyes she addresses him deadpan, “This has got to stop, Detective.” 

“Chief, I—“

“No, Lassiter. Go home, I mean it. It’s 9pm and I won’t stand to have you tired and agitated for another day. You’re tormenting these people. Go home and get some rest. That’s an order.”

“Chief, there’s one more thing in the file I want to go over—“

“No, detective. Go.” She points towards the door. 

Lassiter looks towards the door, glances back at his coat draped over his desk chair, and catches a glimpse of Lucinda wide eyed watching the two of them fight. He scowls, not liking his partner seeing him get reprimanded. 

On the way out, he walks past a couple of rookies standing around interrogation room ‘B’ with Officer Stendas barking orders at them. “ _In,_ Dallon.” He says, “It’s just a civilian, Jesus, nut up. Take his statement and have him fill out the paperwork. Don’t be such a fucking fag.” Then, muttering under his breath, “They don’t make ‘em the way they used to.”

Lassiter has had it up to _here_.

. . .

“Shawn?” Lassier breathes into his cell.

The line crackles, then, strong and clear, “Lassie!”

“Can you... come over? Now?”

“For you? Of course. I’ll just have to tell the Mayor I can’t make it through the last few holes of mini golf. Between you and me, it’s not that much of a competition anyway.”

“ _Shawn,_ just— be here soon, okay?”

Shawn stops laughing. “Yeah. I’ll be there soon. Give me half an hour.”

A half hour is just enough time for Lassiter to take a shower, brush his teeth, and throw on a different pair of clothes since apparently Shawn notices that sort of thing. For good measure, he tidies up the living room despite how clean it already is. There’s a gum wrapper and a crumpled receipt that needs throwing away. The crime scene photos he deposits in a drawer. (There’s no room for that with what he’s about to do, and thank God for that)

Shawn knocks obnoxiously like he has the last two times, a jingle that Lassiter doesn’t recognize, and then he’s looking self assured on the other side of the doorway. Of all the people that Lassiter has ever been with, Shawn is without a doubt the easiest on the eyes. 

Butterflies agree with him. A whole kaleidoscope has made a home in his stomach these days. 

Shawn is likeable and charming, and Lassiter realizes he’s no exception to his effect. He makes Lassiter want to lean in and listen, or spill his guts onto the floor. 

He makes him want to listen when he stops spewing bullshit, anyway, Lassiter could do without the jokes. All he needs is the soft, honest way that Shawn talks when he’s serious. 

“Lassie, Lassie.” He’s saying, “What’s got you down, Lass?” It’s just like that. 

“It’s nothing.” 

Shawn comes in, closes the door behind himself, stares. 

Lassiter stares back until the silence is broken. 

It’s Shawn, big surprise. “Tell me.”

“I…” 

Shawn’s watching him with these eyes that are so _perceptive._ It's what Lassiter thinks being on the opposite side of the interrogation room must feel like, except it’s not hard and rough like he’d do it. No, Shawn’s got him with this softness that’s every bit as potent, but it’s inviting too, makes him want to step forward and confess because everything will be okay. 

“I’ll wait,” Shawn says, coming closer, “I’ve got all the time in the world.” 

Lassiter knows that’s not true. Objectively, he knows. But standing between the foyer and the living room, he feels like it’s the only place that exists, as if everything else has suddenly fallen away. And that... that’s _magic_. He hasn’t felt so centered since he started on the force. He hasn’t felt so centered since before he decided the world’s problems were his problems and he’s the only one who can fix them. 

It’s those eyes, he _knows_ it. “Work,” he says, in a whisper. Shawn can hear perfectly because he’s up close and personal now, listening intently. “No, well, work and just... Shawn, I don’t know how to talk about this.”

“Okay,” he nods. He takes Lassiter’s hand in his own and it sends a twitch of a smile up to Lassiter’s lips. 

Shawn takes him to the couch, and they sit together, Lassiter still and awkward at his side until he snakes his hands around his waist and lays them down with Lassiter’s head on his chest. 

Lassiter has never been on the receiving end of this position but he can see why others like it. He lets his arms wrap around Shawn’s middle. It’s warm, soft, and hard with muscle in all the right places.

“I don’t want to be gay,” Lassiter mumbles against his chest like secret. Maybe it is. Admitting that out loud wasn’t something he ever expected to do. 

There’s a tsk-tsk sound that rumbles from his chest. Sinking. There’s that sinking feeling. Embarrassment? Guilt? 

Guilt. 

Shawn runs a hand through his hair slow and smooth. “That’s normal. I get it. I mean, no, you should accept yourself eventually, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Neither was The Fariy’s Den. That took _months_. It's a really fun bar. I should take you there sometime. You’d like it, Lass, alcohol, flashy lights, glitter—“

“What about me screams glitter?” 

Shawn laughs. He laughs like Lassiter isn’t pouring his heart out, and Lassiter isn’t as mad about that as he probably ought to be. It’s saying that it isn’t some show-stopping worry that people should whisper about behind closed doors. Instead, it’s something light that you can joke around and work through. 

He thinks, anyway. 

“Okay, I’m kidding. A little. I still do want to take you, but, _but_ , my point is being gay isn’t something you should be ashamed about, and you shouldn't be ashamed of being ashamed.”

Lassiter clenches his first in Shawn’s shirt. “In my line of work it is.”

“Oh, so I get to acknowledge you’re a cop now?”

“I’m not a cop. I’m a detective.”

Shawn laughs; Lassiter can feel it rumble in his chest. “Fine. Detective. Well, yeah, that’s tough. Not a good place to be gay.”

“It’d be so much easier if I just... wasn’t.”

Shawn nods, runs his fingers through Lassiter’s hair, genty scratching. “Yeah, it would. But would it be half as fulfilling?”

“Mmh,” he mumbles, “Neuh.”

“What’s that Lass?” He grins. “Didn’t hear you.” 

He huffs. “No.” 

“Whatever people are saying shouldn’t rule your actions. They’re not the ones that matter at the end of the day. Those people, the ones that matter, they’re the ones that you come home at night. The ones that you tolerate while you’re being kickass and solving crimes? Background noise. You feeling me?”

Lassiter tightens his grip around Shawn, nuzzles his head against him. “I don’t know if I _can_ not care what people think of me. Plus, I can’t even close my current case. I’m a failure. Adding being homosexual into mix? God, I’d never hear the end of it.” 

“Maybe you need to get used to the feeling of being different.” Shawn shrugs. 

He’s not Shawn, though, he _can’t_ be different, he has a strict reputation to uphold. He can’t spew 80s references, or gift people pineapples, and he definitely can’t he gay. 

“It’s not just being different. It’s the fact that law enforcement officers that are open suddenly don’t have any career aspects. Once you’re out, it’s all downhill. You think I would have made head detective if everyone knew?”

“Ooh, head detective? That’s sexy.” Shawn grins and squeezes his arm.

Lassiter flushes. “Shut up.”

“Well, I don’t have any good advice there, but Lass, I’m sorry.”

Lassiter shrugs, snuggles up a bit in Shawn’s chest. “Actually, I feel a lot better. There’s nothing I can do about it, just talk. So... thanks.”

“In that case, glad I could help,” he laughs softly. He presses a kiss to the top of Lassiter’s head and tightens his embrace. 

Lassiter tilts his head up, kisses Shawn’s jaw line. It’s stubbly and warm. He trails kisses up, lands on his lips, licks them. Slow and smooth, Shawn kisses him back. The air in the room changes. He’s leaning in, pulling Lassiter on top of him. Legs are tangled and thighs are pressing forward, looking for more. 

Lassiter feels Shawns hands tugging at his slacks and he helps shrug them off because it’s an awkward angle. Shawn’s go next, then shirts, and they’re left with skin on skin and touching in every imaginable way. 

Shawn’s pressing up with his hips, grinding his stiff cock against Lassiter’s, reminding him just what it can do. Without thinking, Lassiter is whimpering, pleading for more without his words; they’ve got rhythm going lately and he’s a sucker for routine. He wants Shawn’s instructions, his praises, his guidance. He wants Shawn telling him he’s been good, telling him how to move, what to think. He wants to get himself lost in what Shawn has to offer. 

Shawn’s offering a lot. 

He’s got his hands cupping Lassiter’s cheeks, his jaw, kissing him deep. He doesn’t hesitate with Lass, just grinds up against him, turns his head in, tells him low and serious all the dirty things he’s about to do to him. All the dirty things he’s going to have Lass do _for_ him. 

“Arch your back, Lass,” he says, and Lassiter does. “Open your mouth, you’re going to lick my fingers and I’m going to fuck you open with them.” 

It’s heady, the feeling that comes with following orders. His heart is pumping on overdrive every time he does what he’s told like it’s fuel that’s keeping him going. 

When he opens his mouth Shawn's fingers slide in rough and salty and his own erection pulses between his legs, hot and needy. Shawn’s taking care of him, making him forget. 

It’s everything he had in mind when he made that phone call. For the first time in days his mind is clear of everything that isn’t _sex_ and _Shawn_. They go hand in hand. He moves his hips, tightens his grip on the couch, gives with the motions. Shawn’s pressing up hard against his ass, pushing inside him. Lassiter didn’t remember him getting slick with lube, but he sure can feel the smoothness of it. He can feel the stretch. 

At first, Shawn is slow and steady, but he works up a pace, harder and faster, until Lassiter is getting pounded. His head falls down on Shawn’s shoulders, his elbows threaten to give in and send him toppling down ontop of Shawn, but Shawn won’t have that, he’s pressing his lips against his instead, stirring him to life, making him feel everything, feel more, feel his cock pressing in, his tongue sliding around, and his fingers gripping hard on his hips. 

Power bottom is technically a bottom, and Lassiter would probably give a snide remark if he weren’t so utterly gone in Shawn’s movement. Instead, he moans without holding back.

“So good, Lass, so, so good,” Shawn’s breathing shallow in his ear. It’s strained and breathy and gorgeous. “Good boy, Lass, That’s it. Just you ‘n me Lass, you feel me inside you, bug? So tight, you feel so good, ah.”

He’s mumbling sweet nothings, it goes on and on and on. Lassiter is cursing ever having told Shawn to shut up because now he can’t get enough of it. He laces his arms around Shawn's neck, putting all his weight on him, getting close to him while he continues to thrust. Lassiter closes his eyes, he’s shaking and sweaty and gripping so tight. A bead of sweat drips down his shoulder blades and slides off his waist. He’s moaning uncontrollably now, every terse emotion slipping out of him. Shawn hits him somewhere _good_ , so _good_. 

“—aah, _Shawn—!”_

Shawn’s kissing his cheek, wet and hot, “Good boy Lassie, cum for me. C’mon, Lass, cum.”

Lassiter lets go, loses it immediately like he was waiting for it. Cums between their stomachs, goes from shaky to limp, and shuts his eyes tight enough to hold back the tears stinging the back of his eye lids. The feeling is indescribable.

“Shawn... Shawn..” It's the only word he knows. 

Shawn’s just holding him, letting him lay on top of him. Crushing Shawn, undoubtedly. It’s welcoming. His eyes are begging for him to close them, fall asleep, and wake up after the sun has come out to play, but he can’t. 

Let him stay one time and it’ll change. He’s having a hard enough time keeping his feelings in check as it is. Shawn has to go. He has to, or he’ll stay and then Lassiter will never let him leave. There’s nothing else to it. 

“Shawn...” he whispers.

“Mmh, Lassie,” he’s smiling so sincerely. 

Do it. Just do it. Don’t look at the eyes. 

“You need to leave,” he says, picking himself up. It’s not warm anymore sitting up by himself. He can’t see Shawn’s forlorn face if he’s facing away from him, though. 

All he would have to do is lay back down and say nevermind, stay, but he doesn’t. Shawn gets up and rubs his eyes, cleans himself up, looks a little dejected. _Damn it,_ he looked. 

“Uh, Shawn....?” 

Shawn looks up, holding his shirt. “Hm?”

Lassiter stares down at his hands. Shawn is dressed back in his boxers now. He forces himself to make eye contact. “Thank you. Thanks for that... All of it.” 

Shawn smiles, for a moment the sincerity is back, and the fondness too. But just like a flame that flickers out, he’s cold again, grabbing his things, and heading for the door. “Anytime.” 

Lassiter gets up and goes to bed. Sleep comes easier than usual.

He wakes up feeling refreshed. His coffee tastes sharp. His case files look new. 

There’s details popping out that he didn’t see before. 

He’s centered and focused; Shawn took everything else away. 

With a new sense of clarity he realizes there’s only one reason that the counters were wiped, the footage was swiped, and a four man job became one…

It was an inside job. 

Now he has to figure out who.


	4. Mama Minty's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lil case stuff and a lil sex stuff

“But, Gus! How will I survive without a steady stream of Red Vines going into my stomach? My digestive system is a very delicate ecosystem. Even the smallest of changes could upset the balance. I only have, like, four packs left!”

“I don’t care about your sugar addiction. Some of us pay attention to our dental health.” 

“Don’t you have some sort of medication that takes all the cavities away? We'll just pop some of those after. Problem solved!”

“No, not problem solved.” Gus glares, “But yes, I do, and it’s called _toothpaste,_ Shawn. Try it some time.” 

“C’mon, son! I'll have you know I have perfect teeth _and_ I eat tons of Red Vines. Besides, if you don’t come with me, you can’t get any pumpkin-infused caramel Curly Wurly’s.”

Gus freezes. “Wait, they have pumpkin Curlys again? You don’t mention that.” 

“I—”

“You have to give me all the information, Shawn, so I can’t make an informed decision. Why are we arguing when we could be buying pumpkin Curlys? Those are seasonal! That means only once a year! What are we waiting for? Let’s _go!_ ”

Shawn grins, grabs his coat, and heads for the blueberry. 

Mama Minty’s is only ten minutes away, but Shawn can’t keep his mind in one spot for too long and it ends up feeling like an hour. He’s itching to get some sugar inside him and Gus is going at least five below the speed limit. 

Bust a Move by Young MC is one the radio, though, so there’s that. 

“Park here!” Shawn points the right. 

Gus looks disgusted. “No, there’s no space.”

“Yes there is! This thing is tiny, it can fit.”

“No way, there’s no space.” Gus passes several more spots. “This is a company car, I’m not going to squish in a spot where I’ll get dinged.”

Shawn watches the stores roll by. “If it’s a company car, that means they pay for damages. Closer spot and free body work. Win-win situation.”

“I’m parking over there.” He nods at an empty lot a million miles away from Mama Minty’s. 

“Eeugh. But Gus, you know I hate walking!”

Gus puts the car in park and looks smug, “Yeah, well, with all the candy you’re about to eat, you could use it.” 

“Pfft! Looks who’s talking, you had two servings of Quatros Quesos Dos Fritos for brunch,” he gasps. 

“Brunch is a combination of Breakfast _and_ Lunch, Shawn. That means two meals.”

Shawn gets out and slams the door and bit too hard. “That’s not how that works at all.”

“Oh yes it is,” Gus gives him a pointed look. 

“Fine! Then I’m going to have Dinsert at Mama Minty’s. That’s dinner _and_ dessert.”

“No, you made that up! Brunch is a real thing. Dinsert is just plain wrong.” 

The walk over is nearly five whole minutes, a time that Shawn uses to complain about said walk. He’s flailing his arms but the weather is nice, and it feels good to do. He stops mid-air, arms falling limp to his sides as he stares in a shop-front window. 

Gus stops walking and looks back at him. “Come on. Shawn, what’re you doing?” 

“Huh? Oh, uh, nothing.” Shawn clears his throat. 

Definitely not oogling the handsome detective he’s fucking inside of a store only twenty feet away. No, definitely not. What’s he doing inside a jewelers, anyway? 

Does he have a girlfriend? No, a boyfriend? 

No… he’s not out. No extra toothbrush in his bathroom, only one unmade side of the bed, only one size of shoe by the front door… 

Huh, but what’s that? Lassiter and a blonde are talking with the store manager, Lassie with an intimidating look on his face. There’s several smashed display cases. Lassie’s slacks are tight around his ass, and it looks positively ravishingly. Glass bits covering the ground, a middle aged woman working the register, no customers. A robbery. Right, he’s working. 

“Shawn? Hello?” Gus has his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. 

“Huh?” He looks away from the glass. “Oh! Right. I’m coming.” 

Lassiter looks _good_ in a suit, huh. 

_“Shawn!”_

Right. He prys his eyes away. “I’m coming!”

. . . 

“That will be thirty-five dollars.” 

“Oh my god, thirty-five? Gus, how many Curlys did you get?”

“Just pay the nice woman, Shawn. You owe me.”

“I thought you said we were good!”

“We are. Right after you buy my pumpkin Curlys.”

Shawn huffs. “Fine!” He pulls out a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket and hands it over, “But this time we really are good.”

The cashier looks at the ball of bills and sighs. 

Gus shrugs his shoulders and bites into a caramel, heading for the door. They only get as far as the sidewalk when Shawn throws himself down on a bench and refuses to get back up. 

“C’mon, Gus, sit with me!” he says, pulling on his arm. 

He sits down, shooting him a weird look.

“It’s a beautiful day. Enjoy the weather. We should go bird watching.”

Gus tsk’s, “We are not going bird watching. Is that really what you came to Santa Barabara for, birdwatching? You must be out of your damn mind if you expect me to believe you really want me to go birdwatching with you.”

Shawn chokes on a laugh, “No. fine, you’re right, no bird watching.” He looks down the street and surveys the area. “So, you have any new lady friends?”

Gus breaks out into a grin but Shawn hardly sees it. “Oh, you know, I get around.” He flicks under his nose, “I’m not a one woman kind of man. I’m a player, Shawn, I have to play the field.”

“Right, so,” Shawn narrows his sights in on the front of Main St. Jewelry and watches the employees come and go. “You’re single then.”

Gus looks peeved. “In a sense.” He takes another bite and chews roughly. “No more single than you, Mr. I can’t hold anything or anyone down for more than a week.”

Shawn looks at Gus for a second, then back to the store. “I’m not single. I’m so not single in fact, that I have three romantic prospects.” The door opens and Lassiter walks out after a blonde in a tan suit. “I’m a true player.”

Gus snorts. “Yeah, okay. You have three fun-buddies you mean. That’s not a romantic prospect.”

“Fun buddies? What are we on the set of Elmo? First of all, if you really were a player you would want a funbuddy. Secondly, It’s a fuck buddy, Gus, ‘cause you fuck ‘em. Because obviously I fuck the people I’m interested in.” He watches Lassiter slide into the driver's seat of the same crown Vic he’s seen parked outside of his apartment building. “You should try it sometime instead of all that pussy footing you do.”

“Women like to be _wooed,_ Shawn. I like classy women.”

“Is that what you called taking Sarah Naderson to the California state regionals spelling bee freshman year of college?”

“She was an English major. She appreciated the bee.”

“I’m sure she did, buddy. So how was the sex?“

“We didn’t have sex, Shawn!”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so, ‘playa.”

Gus scoffs, throwing the rest of his Curly in Shawn's face. “Screw you, man!”

“Well, you gotta screw _somebody,_ Gus! I’ll take one for the team!”

“Oh, my god! You’re disgusting. I’m leaving without you.”

“Wait! No! I don’t have a ride home! Gus!”

. . .

_ding!_

There’s a message from Lassiter lighting up his screen. ‘Come over?’

That’s two days in a row. 

Shawn texts back immediately. ‘Be there in 30.’

That’s enough time to shower and make a quick stop. 

Shawn pulls his helmet off and locks it onto his bike, then makes his way up the parking lot to Lassie’s apartment. The walk is starting to get familiar. There’s a potted banana tree sitting by the entrance, and he always has to pass by an elderly woman he’s dubbed as Gwendolyn. She’s got a cane with a dragon carved in it, and they give each other a nod when he passes. She’s cool. 

Lassie opens the door in gray sweats and a blue tee. It suits him. Shawn’s heart does something funny when he sees him. It’s even worse than seeing him in a full suit. 

“Hey, Lassie. Miss me?” He steps inside and brushes up against him. 

“Not even a little bit,” he says, then nods at Shawn’s arms, “What’s that?”

Shawn smiles wide. “Oh, this? It’s pineapple ice cream. It’s amazing. You’re going to _love_ it.”

“Ice cream isn’t my thing. I’m not into sweets.”

Shawn sets the bag down on the counter and rifles around in a few drawers for a pair of spoons. He opens a cabinet. Only enough mugs for one, and they’re all they’re the same style. Good. “What are you talking about? You have a huge sweet tooth. Just try it.”

Lassie narrows his eyes at Shawn, but sits down on a stool at the counter. “That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. You take your coffee with an entire bathtub full of sugar.” He waves a spoon at Lassie. “It’s heaven on Earth, I promise.”

He takes the spoon, about ready to sink into the ice cream, and looks up at Shawn. “Wait, how do you know how I take my coffee?” 

Shawn smirks, “Oh, come on, Lass. You know I know everything. Now shhhh, and try it.”

Lassie rolls his eyes and doesn’t push it, Shawn, on the other hand watches him intently. 

“Well?”

Lassie takes another spoonful. “Well, what?”

“How is it?!” he gasps, “Tell me it’s not the most delicious thing that’s ever graced your tastebuds,” he stills for a second then smirks, “Well, maybe except for my—”

“No. Shut it,” Lassie says gruffly, pointing at him with his spoon. “It’s… yellow.”

“Yellow? That’s _it_? Wow, color me disappointed. I mean I didn’t expect you to cum in your pants, but yellow? That’s not even— that’s a color, not an adjective!”

“You’re wrong. Yellow is an adjective.”

Shawn pulls the tub towards himself, and takes a big spoonful. “You just lost ice cream privileges!”

“Hey! Hands off! You gave that to me,” Lassie scowls. 

“Nu-uh, it was a loan. Now I’m taking it back.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Lassie says. “And it’s in my house, so it’s mine.”

“First of all, this is an apartment, not a house. And second of all, I’m in your apartment, so that would make me yours too, which doesn’t make any sense because I’m _not_ yours. You’re _mine.”_

Lassie chokes on air, “I— I’m not—”

“Yeah huh, you are. You agreed yesterday. One month, remember? I’ve still got you for 29 days.” 

“That… that doesn’t mean you own me, Shawn.” 

“Doesn’t it?” Shawn rounds the counter, standing next to him. He leans down plants a kiss right in front of his ear, then speaks warm against his skin, “Cause it sure felt like you were mine when you had my cock in your ass and you were moaning my name like it was the only word you knew.”

Lassie flushes red; it creeps up his ears and down his chest, under his thick hair. “Shawn—”

“Mmh, Lass, what?” He kisses him again. 

Lass leans into his touch, “Do that again.”

Shawn kisses him another time, then pulls back. Lassie looks flustered and breathless. “Finish your ice cream, Lass.” 

With a nod, Lassie reaches over, pulls it back, and takes another bite. Shawn watches him silently. He likes the way Lassie’s posture softens around him. He can’t help but catalogue every movement he makes, every expression he shows. It’s like a beautiful dance, seeing him turn from this closed off cop into an open, vulnerable book. 

For Shawn. Because of Shawn. 

“Here, let me.” Shawn takes the tub and puts it in the freezer, and the spoons in the dishwasher. “Sit with me for a bit.”

Shawn’s got a limited amount of time, he knows it. If he wants to talk to Lassie he has to do it now, before they have sex. Otherwise… 

“Okay,” he says softly, taking Shawn’s hand. He’s pliant and happy.

Shawn guides him down on the couch, and pulls his legs overtop of his lap. Lass is so close he’s nearly in it. Shawn wonders briefly if he would sit there, but doesn’t try. 

“Tell me about your day,” he says, looking down at Lass’s sweatpant covered legs. 

Lass has his head tipped against the couch, looking relaxed. He scoots closer and wraps his hands around Shawn’s arm. “It wasn’t bad, for once. I’ve got a hunch that the case I’m working on was an inside job. We went down to the scene today and took another look at the place, and let the employees know that they have to come in for a second round of interviews. There wasn’t much evidence, though. We’ve searched all the residences of the employees and nothing.” 

Shawn turns his head and looks right into his big, blue eyes. “Oh yeah, Lass? How come you think that?” He smiles softly, feels around until he finds his hand and squeezes it. 

“Well,” Lassie looks somewhere else, even though he’s still got his eyes locked on Shawn’s. “First, the timeline is too cramped. From the time that the footage was cut to the time the gunshot was heard, and the assailant was seen leaving the scene, it was only a matter of minutes. No more than ten, tops. Robberies take longer than that.” He blinks hard, shakes his head, and looks at Shawn again. Both of his hands found their way to Shawn’s, and he’s rubbing his thumb mindlessly on his palm. “The second thing is that there was only one assailant seen. No one person could have cleaned all those counters, shot someone, and cleared the security footage. It’s impossible. Their coverup story is the weakest link. There had to be several employees working on this together. I know it.”

“Ah, wow.” Shawn brings Lassie's hands up to his mouth and kisses them. “That’s insane. I never see action like that in real life, and I’ve seen a lot. Y’know That reminds me of this movie, you’d like it, A Fish Called Wanda. Jamie Lee Curtis, who starred as this hot babe Wanda, she planned this Jewel heist— not like a robbery, but still— and she got her secret lover to help her stash the jewels they stole and they were double crossing her partner, only she triple crossed her lover, and then got backstabbed by the original partner, and—“he runs out of steam, and takes a big breath, “—then she realizes that he stashed he stashed them somewhere but couldn’t find out where. They were in a secret trap door under the rug in the back of the house. What a shame, too, she totally deserved all those jewels with all the effort she went through.”

Lassie blinks a few times, and nods. “Huh. Yeah, I’ve never been a big fan of Jamie Lee Curtis.”

“Are you serious? Do you have brain damage? Halloween II? My Girl? Oh my god. We have some movies to watch.”

Lassie shakes his head. “I’m not watching any of those movies.”

“Sure you are.”

Lassiter frowns, looks him in the eyes. “What makes you so sure about that?”

“Because you always do what I say, Lass.” He grins. He looks at Lass almost predatorial, his hand creeps under his chin and he holds it tight. “Isn’t that right?”

Lassie gulps, Shawn can see it. “Yeah.”

“Hmm?” Shawn raises an eyebrow, his eyes firm. 

Lass tries to shake his head but he can’t; it’s held too tight. “Yes, Shawn.”

“That’s a good boy.”

Lassie sighs like the tension of the day is leaving his body. The creases below his eyes look lighter, his shoulders seem looser. His smile is brighter. 

“Give me a kiss, Lass,” Shawn says, leaning forward. He captures Lassie in a kiss without giving him time to respond, just works his lips against his and moans deep and rumbling into it. “So sweet,” he mumbles, “God, you’re so handsome, look at you. Strong, strapping detective. So smart and pretty.”

When Shawn leans back again with red, wet lips, Lassie is blushing furiously, backed up into the couch cushion with twinkling eyes. He looks like he’s going to cry. 

“S’wrong?” Shawn reaches out, caresses his cheek, feels his stubble and his smooth skin. 

“Shawn…” he gulps, “Noone’s ever told me that before.”

“What, that you’re pretty?” he frowns, “That was a little feminine, I’m sorry.”

Lassie blushes, looks up at him hesitantly. “No. No, just the compliments. I’m always the one saying it, never hearing it. It’s nice. Thank you.”

Shawn leans forward and kisses his cheek, “You deserve to hear it. You’re amazing.” 

Lassie doesn’t answer, just nuzzles his cheek against Shawn’s hand and looks at him with wide, wanting eyes. 

“Now… are you going to be a good boy and let me take care of you?” Shawn tugs him closer, into his lap. 

Lass wraps his arms around Shawn's shoulders and rests his head on his shoulder. “Yes, Shawn.” He’s boneless and in way over his head. 

“Then get yourself to the bedroom, because there’s no way I can carry you there myself,” he laughs. Lass rolls his eyes, gets off Shawn, and heads twoards his room. Shawn isn’t far behind. 

An overachiever over everything else, Lass is already sprawled naked on the bed by the time Shawn walks in a minute later. 

Uh-uh,” Shawn tuts, “Turn over, hands and knees.” 

He grabs a bottle of lube and squirts it on Lassie, then gives his ass a light smack. Lassie groans and bucks back. “I wanna watch you stretch yourself,” Shawn sits on the side of the bed, “Use those fingers for me, Lass.”

“Unnnf-“ he drops his upper body to the bed, lets his head dig into the mattress, facing Shawn. His fingers brush tentatively against himself, right inbetween his thighs. “Oh—”

“C’mon, keep going, fingers in.” Shawn says softly as he watches his face turn red. Lassie plunges inside, moves them around, wiggles them a bit, goes in and out steadily. Shawn feels dizzy with want. “God, you’re so sexy, Lass. Add another for me,” he groans, “Oh, good boy, so good, so sexy, I want to take you right now.”

“Oh, Shawn, please—” he moans into the sheets. 

Shawn leans over and kisses his ass cheek, gives it a hard squeeze, makes his boy yelp and groan. Lassie doesn’t stop moving his fingers in and out of his stretched, wet hole. Shawn gets closer, shoves his tongue on top of it all, gets a mouthful of lube, and tongue full of ass and fingers. It’s sloppy and dirty, and Lassie is _into_ it, moaning like a wild cat, breathing heavy and body red with heat. 

He goes behind Lassie, gets on his knees, grabs his cock and strokes it slow. Makes him arch his back by pressing down with a firm hand. With a tight grip he squeezes and strokes, then gets in close and runs his tongue along the underside of it. He licks back down, grazes his tongue on Lassie’s tip, tastes his precum, and swirls around it in soft circles. Lassie is throbbing. 

“I’m not going to suck your cock, Lassie. That’s not what this is about tonight,” Shawn says in a deep, sultry voice that sends goosebumps all up Lassie’s back, “No, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand tomorrow while you’re solving your case. You’re going to think of me all day, everytime you take a step.” He runs his hands up his thighs, bats away his fingers. “But you’re going to think of me regardless because of how good I make you, how much you enjoy surrendering to me, aren’t you?. You’re going to crave me telling you what to do just like you crave my cock up your ass.” 

“Mmhh, Shawn, Shawn, please, I need you,” he moans, wiggling his hips, “Fuck me, Shawn, fuck me, god, please.”

“Atta boy, Lass, beg for it.” He presses his tip right up against his hole and presses in just enough to make Lassie pucker open. 

“Shawn, please! Please, fuck me, I need you, please, fucking _fuck_ me already, goddamnit!”

“Uh-uh,” Shawn says in a whisper, “That’s not how good boys beg for me. Maybe you don’t deserve this, huh, Bug?” 

“No!” he gasps, pushing back, “Please! I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I swear, Please, Shawn. Please, please fuck me, I’ll do anyhting, I need you, I’m a good boy, Shawn, shawn—” 

“Aw, Lassie,” Shawn presses in, “So sweet. So needy. Always knew you were needy. My big strong needy man. God, you’re so handsome when you’re taking cock. Arch you back, Lass. Good boy.” 

Shawn groans, then sinks in all the way. He grabs at Lassie's hips, crushing them in a tight grip, and starts thrusting into him at a brutal pace. Lassie is squirming beneath him. He’s struggling for breath, clenching his fists, eyes shut tight. His cock is pulsing. He’s got his ass up and he looks pornographic. Shawn growls and fucks him harder. 

“ _Oh!_ Shawn!”

The _slap, slap, slap,_ of skin hitting skin reverberates in the room, fills it with a dense fog of indecency. Shawn’s got sweat rolling down the side of his brow and he reaches down to grab Lass’s hair, yanks his head back and hears him gasp. It gives him a rush of adrenaline. He pumps in faster, harder. Lassie is malliable under his grip. He’s crying out with every thrust, each moan more desperate than the last, until he breaks the charged silence and, “Cum, Lass. Cum for me now.” 

Instintaneous. He cum instantaneously. He cums _on command_. Shawn’s command. 

Shawn cums right after seeing Lassie completely lose control. He milks his cock inside of Lass, gives him every last drop before falling onto the bed next to him and pulling him close for as long as he can. 

“Shawn, fuck. Shawn…” Lassie is panting, chest heaving. 

“Mm, Lassie. So perfect. So obedient.” he strokes his cheek, rubs it with the pad of his thumb. 

Lassie closes his eyes, lets out a small smile. His hair is matted to his head, his skin is damp and flushed. He looks like a sex wrecked mess, and it was all Shawn’s doing. 

He gets up and heads to the bathroom. Shawn hears the water running, then Lassie is popping his head out. “I’ll see you next time?” he says, and at least it’s not a blatant dismissal. 

Shawn gets washed up and dressed, then takes the long way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pineapple ice-cream is sooooooo good


	5. Lassie Breaks the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More stuff and words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely proofread this so hopefully it’s not a misspelled wasteland
> 
> okay Edited now

Main St. Jewelers reopens after spending the last week as a crime scene. It’s business as usual with customers lingering around display cases. Lassiter steps out of his Crown Vic and ducks his head as the sun blinds him. Lucinda exits the passenger door and falls in step. 

“I’ve got a feeling about the Manager,” he whispers to her. He’s got his hand up shielding his eyes. 

She looks at him with a sense of pride and a firm nod, “Alright, partner. I’ve got your back.” 

Lassiner almost smiles, opening the door and taking stock of everything in the small shop. Behind the counter Terry the Manager is helping a customer, and a sales associate is wiping down the counters. There are two couples shopping, and the security cameras are recording in the corner with a red light. 

“Mrs. Branforth,” he says, walking up to the register, “I’d like to speak with you.” 

“Right now?” she asks with a frown. 

Lassiter turns to the couple next to him giving them a dismissive wave. “Right now.”

She huffs, takes the three rings from off the counter and locks them in the glass case below. “I was in the middle of a sale.”

Lucinda taps her nails on the glass. “It can wait.” 

“Fine. What is it that you want, Detectives? Haven’t we been over everything already? What else could I possibly tell you?” she smooths down the sleeves of her cardigan. 

Lassiter looks behind her at the hall leading toward the back. “Where’s Don?” He looks back at Terry. 

“He took the day off,” she says. 

“On the day of reopening?” 

She shrugs, looking at Lucinda and then drops her eyes to the glass case. “Yeah.” 

“Why?” He leans in closer. 

She fiddles with her set of keys, sliding them together. “Errands. He had errands. It’s really not that interesting, Detective. He’ll be back by noon.”

Lassiter looks over at Lucinda, then back at Terry, sliding a photograph towards her. “Care to explain these?”

Her face drops. She picks up the photograph with trembling fingers and swallows. “Uh, I—”

“Um? Is that all you have to say about your husband getting up close and personal with these floozeys? Look at that, he’s got his arm around her waist. What do you think he’s doing in Vegas, Terry? And don’t tell me it’s errands.”

Her eyes are red and watery, and Lassiter knows he’s close to something. “Detective, I didn’t know— he wouldn’t— I don’t—” 

“Oh, don’t cry, Terry!” Lassiter scoffs, “You and your husband faked the theft and he left you high and dry, didn’t he? You have no right to cry. You killed an innocent man.”

“I never—” she sobs. 

Lucinda reaches out to hold her hand, and she jerks back. With a frenzied look of disgust, she rips the photo in two and cries out. 

“Show me where you stashed the diamonds,” Lassiter barks. 

“I didn’t steal anything!” Terry backs up, stumbling on her own shoe. 

Lassiter’s fingers are itching to reach for his gun, nearly wrapping around the satisfying metal grip when he spots a groove in the plastic at the bottom of the glass display case. _'What’s that…'_ he mutters. 

Terry’s eyes shoot from him to the case and her breath kicks up. She’s fidgeting and shifty eyed. 

Before Lassiter can even finish his thought, Terry is making a mad dash down the back hall.

“Get her!” Lassiter shouts, but Lucinda is already on her tail. They bang into the wall, Terry stumbles, gets back up. She scrambles into the back room and runs full force into the emergency exit, but Lucinda snatches her cardigan and yanks her back with all the force she’s got, and she tumbles to the floor with a thud. 

“Stay down!” she shouts. 

Lassiter is in the doorway with his gun trained on Terry. “Why’d you run, Terry?”

Shaking, Terry has her face buried in her hands. “I never meant, I didn’t think, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, oh, god—” she wails. 

Lassiter knees down and lifts her key ring while Lucinda cuffs her and reads off her Miranda rights. 

He doesn't bother to stay and watch. He heads straight for the display case, unlocks it, shoves all the jewelry to the side. He’s looking for the groove in the bottom, the one that ran down the side and swerved, dipped down, looked like it could come clean off. It looked like someone cut the plastic and placed it back. He’s not sure why he thought this rivet was a clue but it was screaming at him from the counter. Just that one little groove. 

Lassiter feels a rush as he lifts it and finds the stolen diamonds. Inside the secret compartment they’re twinkling and they look like success. 

Finally. 

They take Terry down to the station and put out a warrant on Don who’s caught not even an hour later with a hooker on his arm and a fistful of cash. 

He files his paperwork with a smile.

. . . 

Later that night, Lassiter sits on his couch with a glass of scotch. His thoughts aren't reeling like they had been the past week. Everything is quiet. He likes it that way when he can get it. The hustle and bustle of work kept him on his toes, but the quell after a case is much needed. 

He takes out his cell and finds himself dialing Shawn’s number. Not even ten minutes later there's a knock on the door and Shawn is shooting him a deadly grin. 

“Hey, Lass!” 

“Shawn,” he replies, biting his tongue to stop the smile that's threatening his lips.

“So… the case go well? Give me the deets, Mr. Head detective. No wait, I’m guessing it went well! You look calmer than your usually wound up self.”

“It did go well. We found the stolen merchandise and took in the husband-wife duo,” he recounts. 

“Aw! Heck yeah, man! Good going, I knew you had it in you. Where’d you find em, under the bed? Inside of a hollowed out replica of Tommy Lee Jones?

“Shawn— why would there be a bed in a jewelry store?”

“I’m just playing, Lassie, where were they really?” he says, mind whirring with images and stopping at a certain frame of a scratchy shop window and a shiny display case inside— then Gus to the side— back to the case and a little groove—

“Under the display case, a false bottom.”

“Oh, wow! That’s rad. You guys are basically leaving in a movie.”

“Not even close. I’d have machine gun and a police-K9 sidekick like that actor from... that movie.”

“Ha! Did you just make a joke?! You really are in a good mood. I like this side of you, Lassie. You should be happy more often. 

Lass rolls his eyes with a shy smile. 

“I mean it! I’m going to get that grumpy face to smile more,” he says, moving closer, “starting with this…” and he looks up to press a kiss to his lips. 

“Mmh, that could work,” Lassiter whispers. 

“You sure you still need me now that you’re not teeming with sexual anxiety, huh?”

“It’s not about that.” he rubs his neck, “it is, but it isn’t. I can handle myself, Shawn, you’re just… a bonus. We have therapy we can attend if we need it, you know."

"I know, but you like my kind of therapy better.”

"Don’t get ahead of yourself."

“You did invite me over, you know. That’s basically shouting from the shoottops that you want me.”

"It is not." He rolls his eyes.

"It is! But, now that you’re so chipper, I have a thought. There’s something we should talk about while you’re in a good headspace.” 

Lassiter backs up and lets Shawn into the living room. “What…?” He looks nervous.

“Well, Lassie, my obedient little bug, we need a safeword.”

He scoffs, looking away. “A safeword? Shawn this isn’t raunghy some sex club—”

“No, Lass, obviously it isn’t, this is your living room, duh. It doesn’t matter though, it’s not about how hardcore the play is— though I will break out the leather masks if you want— it’s about safety.” Shawn drops to the couch and looks up at him. “I don’t want to hurt you. Physically _or_ emotionally, and there’s a lot of room for that here.”

Lassiter nods, effectively shut up, and he sits down next to Shawn. He keeps quiet, lets him lead the conversation because he's a little bit out of his depth, and because it feels strangely right to give him the reins. 

“Since I’m the Dominant one here, it’s my job to make sure I’m taking care of you and respecting your boundaries. But I can only do that if you do your job as the submissive and let me know what something isn’t right. Communication isn’t exactly my forte, but this is important.” 

“I get it.” Lassiter nods. 

“We’ll use the stoplight system as safewords.” He says, putting his hand on Lassiter’s knee, and warmth spreads throughout him. “Red if you want to stop, Yellow if it’s getting uncomfortable, and Green if it’s all peachy.” 

Lassiter chuckles, “But I’m always yellow around you. I can hardly stand you and your incessant joking.”

“Red.”

“What?” Lassiter scoffs, “Already? You can’t use red, you’re the Dom!”

Shawn grins at Lassie calling him the Dom, wants to drink it up, _really_ wants to, but files it away for later because he can’t let this go. It sets a precedent for the whole shebang. 

He looks him hard in the eyes. “You can’t joke about the safe words.”

Lassiter rolls his in response. “Oh please, you joke about everything, Shawn.”

“Yeah, but not this. These are important. I don’t want a boy who cried wolf situation.” He reaches out and lays his hands on top of Lassiter's. “And the other thing, it doesn’t matter who says the safe word, it’s for both parties, not just for the submissive. And it doesn’t only apply during sex. It can be anytime. They’re our special words.”

“Fine,” Lassie grumbles. 

“Fine, what?”

_“Fine."_ he looks Shawn in the eye, face burning, “I won’t joke about the safewords.”

“Good boy, Lassie. I know you’re a smart cookie.”

“I’m not a cookie,” he grumbles, frowning. 

“Then why do I wanna bite you so badly?”

Lassiter groans. “My God, why did I agree to this?” But he can’t help the smile that’s tugging at his lips. 

“Next I want to know your limits, where do you draw the line?” He bites his lip, looking at Lassiter honestly. 

Lassiter thinks about it for a moment; he’s never been in a situation that’s called for him to draw a line. He's always been the one in control, setting the place and planning the action. That, and all of his sexual encournters involed missionary under-the-covers activity. 

“I think… I think I don’t want any of the usual ones. No blood or violence. No handcuffs, no guns, no shop talk. It’s a bit triggering. And no, that’s not a pun.”

Shawn grins but he doesn’t push that stab at humor; he wants to encourage it. “No violence at all? What about spanking, slapping, pinching? Choking?”

“God, no, no choking. Don’t you dare do that,” Lassiter shudders at a memory, “Slapping and pinching and, um,” he turns red, “Spanking is okay.” 

“Spanking, okay,” Shawn grins. Lassiter wishes he didn’t blush so hard but he has a feeling Shawn would notice even the faintest of blushes, so he’s screwed either way. Shawn is like a bloodhound trained to sniff out every secret he has. 

“No blindfolds either. That’s all I can think of.” 

“That’s good, you know what you don’t like. We’ll probably find more.” Shawn licks his lips. “Now tell me about the ones you like, Bug.” 

That goes to his heart real fast. Blushing everywhere, chest thumping, breath nowhere to be seen. Lassiter isn’t sure how he managed to get himself into this situation with a gorgeous man making him admit things he wouldn’t have dared to admit in a million years, but here he is doing it and getting off on it. Loving it. 

He swallows, scratches the back of his neck, lets out a breathy chuckle before dropping his eyes and addressing the floor. “I’ve never tried anything before, but…” he coughs, “a gag.” 

“Mmm, you want a ball gag between those pretty lips? That’s hot, Lassie. I’ll get you one. What else? Tell me.”

“I liked it when you called me sweetheart.”

“Awh, Bug.” he reaches out and rubs his thumb over Lassiter’s cheek. “How cute. I didn’t peg you for a pet name kind of guy. This is fantastic.” 

Lassiter can’t get a word out.

“What about tasks, you like those, sweetheart?”

He stammers. He’s getting incredibly red in the face. He nods his head. He would like tasks very much. He adores the feeling of finishing something, and there’s a naggy voice in the back of his mind that’s saying it’ll be even etter when he finishes and Shawn tells him he did a good job. 

Shawn has a wide smile covering his entire face and it looks like he just hit the lottery. Did Lassiter make him feel that way? God, that’s intoxicating. 

“You know what else I think you’d like?” he says, coming closer and brushing his lips against his cheek, “Following my rules. Kneeling for me, begging for me, being an obedient boy for me.”  


_Yes._

Yes, he wants that very much. 

“Mmh…” he moans, leans into the touch, and Shawn kisses his cheek. 

“I think you want someone to tell you what to do and when. You want someone else to be in control for once. You love it. You want me to put a little collar around your neck and call you mine.” 

Lassiter’s breath hitches, and he’s never thought about that particular scenario before, but once the words left Shawn's mouth, it’s like they cemented themselves inside his mind and they’re never going to leave. Shawn’s traced his big dominant initials in his sidewalk and not rain, hail, nor snow could wash them out. He wants a collar. He wants one bad. 

Instead of saying anything, because he’s not sure which words would be enough, he turns his head and crashes his lips into Shawn’s. Presses them hard, darts out his tongue, nips and bites and nibbles until Shawn is panting against him. 

Shawn pulls back with a cocky smile, “You like that, huh? I knew you would.” 

“Yes, God, yes,” he says. 

“This requires a lot of trust, Lass. Do you trust me?”

Lassiter still for a moment. Trust? 

He’s built walls so high that not even a fighter jet could fly overtop. Shawn didn’t climb, though, Shawn dug down deep and tunneled his way to the other side. He _does_ trust Shawn; it’s those eyes of his. They’re sincere. For all the goofing around that he does, Lassiter got under Shawn's wall too and he’s seen his eyes when there’s nothing guarding them. 

“Yes.” It’s a simple question. “I trust you, Shawn.”

Shawn is careful and he’s considerate about his boundaries and his limitations. He’s a safe bet if he’s looking to not get hurt. 

“Good boy,” he cooes, “We’re going to have a lot of fun, then. Get on the floor.” 

Lasstier’s breath hitches. He gets down, looks up at Shawn with eager eyes. He’s waiting for his next command. Shawn tells him to take off all his clothes, so he does, and to start rubbing himself, which he’s more than happy to do. 

“Kepp looking up,” Shawn tells him. “Don’t stop looking at me. I want your full attention.”

Lassiter nods with his lips parted. His eyes are drawn towards his pants and he’s wanting. “Please?” he asks. 

Shawn smirks. “No.” It makes him whine.

Shawn keeps looking him dead in the eye with a seriousness that Lassiter only sees when Shawn is in the zone, and it’s sending chills down his spine. He doesn’t think he could look away even if he wanted him, and dear God, he doesn’t want to.

Wet, rhythmic stroking sounds out between them as he rubs himself for Shawn. His cock is red and aching, verging on uncomfortable the way that he’s gripping so tight. Shawn leans forward, comes closer, and Lassiter closes his eyes just feeling his presence. Shawn spits down, it lands on his cock, and he moans without shame. It’s loud and desperate. Lasttier speeds up his pace, he’s got his jaw hanging slack and he’s hyperfocusing on the fact that he’s jerking himself with Shawn’s spit and —oh! He opens his eyes, he already forgot, and looks up. Shawn has an eyebrow cocked and he feels guilty. 

“Sorry, Shawn,” he whispers, hand still moving. 

He doesn’t hit, doesn’t make him stop, but the expression is more than enough to make him feel bad.

“Keep going. Ask for my permission when you want to cum,” he says, and leans back again, but not before pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. 

His hips start moving in tandem with his thrusts. His hand is gripped tight, moving fast, his hips matching, and chest heaving. Everything is hot, hot. He feels ready to explode with desire and completely vulnerable about it. He’s going to blow his load on his knees infront of his Dom and he’s never felt anything so thrilling. 

His hips buck hard, his hand squeezes hit tip, and he’s riding the edge. “Shawn, please,” he whimpers, “I need to cum.” 

“I know you know that’s not what I told you to do, Lassie,” he frowns. 

Lassiter jerks forward again. He’s so close he can taste it. “Please, sorry, please, can I cum? Shawn, please? Can I?” 

Bingo. That’s it. 

“No,” he smirks, “No you may not.” 

Lassiter can’t take it. “Wha—? No! Please, I asked!” 

“Doesn’t mean the answer is going to be yes. Don’t stop, Lass. Keep moving. Be a good boy and do what I tell you.” 

“No, I can’t,” he halfway moans, “I can’t, I’ll cum, I can’t.” 

“You’d better do what I say. You won’t cum. Focus, and try hard. I know you can do it.” 

Lassiter whines, wraps his hand around his aching cock again and lets out a desperate sound. He stokes slow, careful not to overwhelm himself. He’s still teetering on the brink but he doesn't want to defy order and cum before Shawn tells him he can.

But the pleasure it so _intense._ He needs to focus. He puts every once of thought into holding back while his hand moves fater with Shawn’s instruction. He’s almost back at his pace again and he’s biting his lip, locking eyes with his Dom to steady himself. 

“Good boy, Lassie,” he grins. “So good, sweetheart. Look at you doing such a good job.” 

Lassiter nods his head, smiling back. His hand grips tighter. He’s trying so hard. It’s nearly impossible, his orgasm is peeking out from behind the corner, but Shawn is keeping him grounded. “Please…” he whimpers. 

“Mmh? Something you want to ask me?” 

He gulps. He needs it. He brushes his wet first up over his tip and shudders. “Can I cum, Shawn?” 

Shawn bites his lips, doen’t move his eyes away for even a second. “Yes, baby. Cum.” 

“Oh, God, Sha—” he moans, hips staggering up, first clenching, thighs contacting, lip trembling, _cumming_. His seed spills down his knuckles and onto the back of his hand. It’s warm and gooey, and he can’t think of anything but pleasure and obedience. He doesn’t move, donesn’t talk, just waits for Shawn.

“What do you say, Lassie?” Shawn whispers. 

He’s not sure, but he has an idea. An embarrassing one if he’s wrong. 

“Thank you.”


	6. Open Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More chappy chaps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter than usual but I had a long week so this is what I've got lmao. Enjoy!
> 
> TW for Shawn/OMC

One streetlight for every mile lines the back roads of Santa Barbara. The long, winding roads that swivel and round the outskirts of town are barren in the dead of night, and Shawn prefers it that way. Where there's only the open road and the wind in his hair he doesn’t have to think about the way Lass threw him out again after another amazing night together, or the look on his face as he did it. Just as soon as he thinks he's making progress, he's on the outside of Lass’s door with an uncomfortable feeling of rejection in the pit of his stomach. Every night they’re back at square one. 

It seems like karma. He’s broken a lot of hearts with his inability to commit. It figures that the one time he would be willing to let someone in, they push him away. 

He doesn’t think about that though, he presses his foot on the pedal and feels the power of the engine propel him forward instead. Pebbles fly up from the asphalt and clink on his helmet. As long as he’s going forward he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

Three streetlights pass, then five, ten, twenty. He’s nearing town and feeling like a new man. As the bustle of town gets closer he lets off the gas and shifts into second gear. There's a sharp turn before the old textile factory then he rides slow onto I-92 where he glides smooth to his exit. 

His apartment isn’t much; he’s renting it from a sweet old woman that closed the family business after the death of her late husband. An ex-laundry shop is’t the most conventional place to live, but Shawn was never okay with conventional. In fact, he thinks this place suits him rather well. Besides, there’s always somewhere to wash his clothes and the air preptually smells of fabric softener. 

He falls into bed and has a vivid dream of Judd Nelson and Molly Ringwald sharing a hot tub with him in Paris. They only speak in movie quotes, and he’s perfectly okay with that. He wakes up with a stupid grin on his face. 

Three days go by before he hears from anyone that’s not Gus. He doesn’t let himself ruminate on any of his non-existent friends, or the sigh that escapes his lips as he sees Gus's name pop up on the phone. (and not Lass’s) He takes up Gus’s offer of smoothies and movies and meets him at Jamba Juice with all the money that he has stuffed in his pocket. 

He misses Gus more than he’d like to admit and is on his best behaviour. 

He gets a text from Nicolas that night and he’s holding off on answering because he's looking out for Lassie’s text instead. When it nears 10pm and he’s sure that Lass is already in bed for his shift in the morning and texts back Nic. 

Nic invites him over. It’s something to do. He’s had a thing for Nic’s lean body ever since they met. It’s as if he does nothing but spend his time sculpting it and Shawn is perfectly fine with that. Brains were never something that he was trying to get from an encounter with him. If he wanted some mental stimulation he wouldn’t go looking for it on Grindr. (Even if he has unexpectedly stumbled across it there before)

Nic shoots him sultry eyes as soon as he’s inside the apartment. “Hey, you,” he’s saying, “Been a while.” 

Shawn shrugs, tips off his shoes, finds himself on the couch with Nic falling down beside him. “I’ve got a lot going on.” 

“I missed those dimples,” he grins, and Shawn scoffs because she’s only got one dimple, but it’s nice coming out of Nic’s mouth anyway. The fierce look in his eyes is intoxicating and he finds himself subtly shifting his body towards him. 

“You know what else I missed?” Nic snakes an arm around his shoulder and leans down to kiss his neck.

Shawn has his eyes closed and he hums a reply. 

“Tht cute little ass of yours,” he grins. Shawn blushes, scoffs, feels flustered and slightly angry. It’s been some time since he was on the receiving end, and for as much as he remembers every little detail about everything, it slipped his mind that Nic exclusively tops. 

Shawn thought that he would get enough with constantly _moving_ but Nic doesn’t seem to mind. Yesterday he ran a 10k, according to the calendar tacked up to the wall, and yet he’s still willing to pound into Shawn for forty minutes straight. 

Shawn doesn’t really feel like he’s in a bottom mood tonight, but Nic is warm and willing. He’s grabbing at his clothes, pulling them all off, tugging on his hair. Teeth are sliding down his neck, his collarbone, his chest. His nipples are being bitten and licked in feverish motions. It’s rough and fast just like everything else about Nic. 

Rough hands grab between his thighs and spread them open; he feels far too vulnerable. He grabs at the sheets and forces his head to the side, his fustrasted growl muffled by the bed. He wants it, he doesn’t. He wants something different. He wants to pin Nic down and fuck him open but Nic would never let him do that, and he’s got the muscles to back it up.

Lassie has the muscle, the height, the authority, but he would never have shawn do this. 

“Ah- fork!” Shawn bites out, feels the wetness of a tongue at his asshole, careens his legs around Nic’s shouler and presses him forward. Nic resists, keeps a steady pace, flicks and darts his tongue in choppy, hard motions. 

Next, Nic takes his tongue and drags it up over his balls, the underside of his cock, and swirls around his tip. Shawn has never said no to a blowjob. 

It’s all too short, however, because Shawn hardly has time to savor the feeling of tight, hot lips around him before they’re gone and Nic is kneeling on the couch between his legs, pressing his dick inside. 

Shawn gasps, bites his lip, feels angry. He wants it, he does, he consented, but it’s frustrating. “Ahhh-!” He’s red in the face and scrambling to hold onto something. The force of Nic’s hips hitting against him is sending him back against the arm rest every few seconds and he doesn’t enjoy being thrown around so easily. 

He grips at the cushion, hoists his thigh up around Nic’s hip, uses it as leverage to force Nic into a slower pace, and Nic chuckles, looking down at him and licking his lips. “S’matter, Shawny? Too rough?” 

He takes Shawn’s cock in his hand and starts stroking it. Shawn jerks his hips up. He can’t cum.

“Yes! Fuck, yes, slow down, I’m not a rag doll,” he pants, “Don’t stop stroking me, oh-” 

“Aw, Shawny, so demanding tonight,” he winks, and thrusts particularly slow into him. The sensation is hot and wet and bad in a different way that the hard thrusting wasn’t.

“Shut up,” he says, and closes his eyes. He’s got an eiedetic memory to boot up and he presses play. Nic keeps going, laughs a bit, but has his own cock to worry about. He’s fucking into Shawn with nice, long thrusts, and giving him every inch he has. 

Shawn’s grip loosens around the cushion. Soft images are dancing behind his eyelids. Blue eyes and cool, dark colors. He remembers warm skin and needy lips. The look of desperation and fufilment all wrapped up in one pretty package. He’s nearing the edge and he cums on his stomach with someone down on the floor, sucking between his knees, their eyes looking up with desire. 

He tilts his head back, chin turning left, and eyes rolling to the back of his head. Pleasure is rolling around between his legs and it subsides just as quickly as it arrives. 

When he opens his eyes Nic is still there, eyes closed, not even breaking a sweat. He runs his fingers through his wavy hair and cums with a stilling of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen contract and slide under his skin, and it’s a handsome sight. 

When he’s finished, he plops down beside Shawn with a satisfied grin and pokes him in the stomach. “Thanks, Shawnie.”

Shawn grunts and swats his hand away. There was a time that he would banter and poke back until they’re both laughing and falling on the floor, but he’s not in the mood. 

“So, what’dya say, order a pizza? I’ll pop in a movie. I’ve got an eighth he can smoke.” 

Shawn thinks about it; pizza and bud would be fun, but again, not in the mood, and honestly, when has he ever been in the mood to hang around with Nic? He’s never accepted that offer, not once. 

“Nah.” he gets up from the couch and slides his clothes back on. “I gotta go, man.” 

“Oh.” He’ disappointed. “Catch you later?”

“Yeah. Later,” he says while he’s halfway out the door. When it’s shut behind him he takes out his phone and deletes Nic’s contact. He doesn’t let himself wonder if this is how Lassiter feels when he kicks him out. No, he definitely doesn’t let himself think about that.


	7. Ropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so there's a lot of smut in this as per usual

Another day goes by and Shawn is peeved. Lassie still hasn’t contacted him. They have one month together, and this is how he spends it, playing hard to get? There’s only one week left in their game. 

There’s a lightbulb that goes off in his head at that moment, and it’s that he can’t expect all of his problems to be magically solved like he usually does. That, or run away from them. (Though he hasn’t reached that particular epiphany yet) If he wants to see Lassie, he can make it happen himself. 

Maybe Lassie wants to be pursued, anyway, and he should have realized that sooner. If he wasn’t so busy feeling insecure that no one wants him around he would have picked that up. 

Or maybe he’s busy. It doesn’t matter either way. 

He texts Lassie early into the evening, thinks if he gets there before seven they’ll have a lot of time to spend together. 

It’s like a breath of fresh air seeing him again even if he does look a little frayed around the edges. For some reason, Shawn breathes easy for the first time in days and wonders whether or not the arrangement doesn’t just give Lassie focus, but him as well. 

Having someone to dominate certainly gives him… a small bit of purpose. At the very least it’s something to look forward to. 

“Hey, Shawn,” he says with the hint of a smile. 

Shawn grins back at him and steps inside. A quick glance around and he figures that Lass has had a hectic week; it’s usually spotless but today there’s takeout containers on the counter and papers sprawled all over the kitchen table. 

“How’s it goin’, Lassie boy?”

Lass just grunts, shrugs. He keeps his eyes on him, watches as he looks around the room. 

“Big case?”

“You could say that.”

He’s over by the files now, only taking a tiny glance, but that’s all he needs. He can freeze frame it, spin it around, magnify it in his mind. 

He can tell from the file that they're stumped. He can see every angle they tried and failed, because none of them were right. They were barking up the wrong tree, wrong forrest.

It’s not that difficult, though, it was the step brother and it’s clear as day that he did it as a sort of revenge against the step sister that’s he was so obviously fucking and was dumped by. 

Shawn almost hates that he can see that so easily, _almost;_ it’s a testament to everything that Henry has done to him over the years, but damn if it doesn't give him a sweet sense of satisfaction that he's good at something. _Really_ good. 

Surpass the head detective that has been working on it for two day kind of good, and he only had a glance. 

“Any theories?” he asks instead of throwing around his own. 

“You don’t want to hear about that.” Lass comes over and starts sliding them into a manila folder. 

“Sure I do. Who’s that? She looks sketchy. Did she kill someone? Chop their head off Halloween II style?”

Lassie scoffs, looks him in the eyes. “No, she wouldn't have killed her own father. I spoke with her today. She had way too many tells to be the killer.”

Shawn runs his thumbs along the pockets in his jeans. “Oh. You sure? She had a twinkle in her eye.” He’s grinning. 

“A twinkle?” he laughs, thank God, “You shouldn’t even be looking at these anyway, they’re official police records.”

Shawn ignores that. Rules are for squares. “How about him? What, step brother?” 

Lassiter cocks an eyebrow and stops slipping the photo into the folder in favor of looking at it. “How did you know he was the step brother?” 

Shawn bites a grin back. “I told you, I’m psychic,” he says with a laugh. 

“Yeah, okay. Nice try,” Lassie rolls his eyes, “Stop reading my reports.”

“But I’m serious! About the stepbrother, anyway. He looks suspicious. Why’s he have that thing on his keychain?”

Lassie brings the photo closer to his face. “What thing?”

 _“That_ thing!” Shawn steps up behind him, presses close, rests his head on Lass’s shoulder.

His eyes roam over the photo and he squints hard at the little tag that Shawn is referring to. “Huh. Yeah, what is that? Some kind of club tag?”

“Could be a clue, don’t you think? I’m no head detective but I’m spooked.” He steps back as Lass turns around, photograph forgotten.

“Uh, well… thanks, I guess,” Lassie says with confusion written on his face. Shawn stills. Lassie is looking at him, _really_ looking at him. Profiling him?

“Uh, earth to Lass…?” His voice is right about to waver, “you see something you like, or...?”

Lassie shakes his head, shoves the photos into the folder and resets. He leans over into Shawn and plants a kiss on his lips. 

“Mm-” Shawn mumbles. He doesn’t have room to say a thing as Lassie kisses him with a new found passion. He doesn’t mind; he kisses right back. 

It’s the perfect opportunity to drag him into the bedroom, but he only gets as far as the hall closet before his hands have slipped down Lassie's pants and rendered him immobile. 

To Shawn, it doesn’t matter either way where he gets to fuck Lassie, so long as he does. So he pushes Lassier to the side and bends him over his dryer before yanking his pants down to his ankles and slapping his ass. 

It rings out through the apartment. One thing about Domming Lassie is that the man loves to be shown who's in charge, and Shawn intends to do exactly that. 

Two, three more slaps land on his ass as he cries out; whimpers, moans, pleas, and then Shawn is rubbing his skin roughly. Lassie has his head resting against the cold plastic and his hands clasping tightly on the side with white knuckles. He’s panting with glossy eyes and a needy, gaping mouth. 

Shawn sticks his fingers in that needy mouth of his and fucks into it enough to make him gag, but Lass doesn’t complain. They go in his ass next, and then he’s sending primal moans through the hall. 

“What a pretty red ass, Lass. You want me fuck it?” Shawn growls, “Tell me you want me to fuck your ass until you cum.”

Lassie stirs, lifts his head a bit and looks back at Shawn with half lidded eyes. “Please, I- I want you to fuck me, Shawn. Please, please, fuck my ass? Shawn? Please?”

“Aw, pretty little Lassie, such a good boy, aren’t you?”

He drops his head and moans again. 

“I said, ‘Aren’t you?’, Lass?” Another slap. 

“Ah-! Yes, yes, I’m a good boy! I’m a good boy.”

“Yes, you are.” He pushes his throbbing cock deep into him. “So good, so tight. You’re mine, Bug.”

Almost unintelligible, Lass whispers back, “Yours, Shawn. I’m all yours.” He’s swaying with the motion, hitting against the dryer with every thrust, and taking it like a good boy should. 

Knowing it’ll leave a mark, Shawn grips his hips and pounds him like there’s not tomorrow. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows there _will_ be no tomorrow, and that day is rapidly approaching. 

“Mm, sweetheart, babydoll,” Shawn mindlessly murmurs, he’s got nicknames in spades and he isn’t afraid to use them, “You were made for my cock. Ah, Lass, you’re amazing, pumpkin, keep taking it.”

Lassie doesn’t acknowledge him much, but he doesn’t mind; Lassie is a whimpering mess and barely in control of himself, just feeling what he’s giving him. 

“Mm, you’re a happy little slut, aren’t you, baby? Look at you getting fucked so hard. You’re so good, Lassie. You want to cum, sweetheart?”

Those words perk him up. He stiffens his back a bit, fidgets his hands on the dyer. “Yes, Shawn, please.”

“You know better than that, Sweetie. Beg harder.”

Lassie is deep down in sub space and he doesn’t hesitate slurring out pleas that he would never dare think during the daytime. It’s an easy surrender that would almost be cute if it weren’t for the cock in his ass. “Please, Shawn, anything, I need it, let me cum, please, I’m yours, let me, please, Shawn, please, please, Shawn, please—”

Instead of giving him release, Shawn slides his cock out, rests his cock on top of Lass’s ass, and leans overtop of him, hands on either side of the drier. He’s panting like mad. “No, baby, not yet.”

Honestly, Lassie did this to himself. Shawn has to make this last longer, longer, longer, if he wants to stay. He’s willing to make a marathon of it because as soon as he cums he’s right out the door. 

“But—!” he whimpers, “You said, Shawn! You said _ask!”_

Shawn grabs Lassie in a backwards hug to stop him from trembling on jelly legs. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to say yes. I decide when you cum. Me. And I say not yet.” 

“Please, Shawn…” he breathes. He tips his head back on Shawn's shoulder and breathes deep. Shawn knows he’s trying to walk himself away from the proverbial edge. 

“Be good and listen to me, hm? Can you do that?” he purrs up close in his ear. Goosebumps erupt down Lassie’s arms and he’s nodding feverently. 

“I’ll be good,” he whispers, head down. 

Shawn slaps his ass, makes him jump. “Put your hands behind your back and get into the bedroom.” 

Lassie does just that, clasping his one hand over his wrist and walking into his bedroom with just a tshirt on. Shawn loves to see that little ass jiggle as he goes. That’s _his_ ass. 

Shawn meets him in the doorway, takes in the sight of him standing by the bed waiting for an order. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he could pull such a strong, accomplished man. Not only fuck him, but domainate him, have him wanting his direction. 

How did he get so lucky?

“Stay right there,” he says, “Shirt off, eyes on the floor.”

Lassie drops his head and Shawn goes back out to the living room where he stashed his backpack and takes out a couple lengths of rope and a ballgag. 

When he gets back he has Lassie turn around and says, “What’re the safewords, my sweet thing?”

He shifts from one food to the other. “Red, Yellow, and Green.” 

“Good boy. Let go of your wrist,” he slides his hand over Lass’s waist, “Now take my hand, Baby, good.” he lets Lassie take his hand and hold it. “Give me one finger.” 

Lassier holds one out. “That’s Red.”

“Oh?” he put his finger down. 

“Now two. That’s yellow.” Shawn says, and Lassie mimics the words. “Show me green,” he tells him. 

Lassie holds up three fingers. 

“You understand, my smart little boy?” he grins. 

Lassie scoffs, and that’s fair, Shawn thinks, that was rather infantalizing to someone so accomplished, but hey, he wants that, doesn’t he? 

(He does; Shawn knows it) 

“Answer me.” 

His shoulders losen. “Yes, Shawn, I understand.” 

“Good boy, now open up that pretty little mouth.” 

Without any hesitation Lassie lets his jaw hang loose and Shawn brings the gag up to his mouth and pops it in. 

“Mm-!” Lassie grabs for it. 

“Uh-uh, pretty,” Shawn tuts. 

“Wuahhus-”

“Awe, Lassiepoo, are you trying to say something?” he grins, grabbing his chin and shaking it like a taunt. 

Lassie doens’t answer, big surprise. 

“Show me your fingers, pumpkin,” Shawn runs a finger up his arm. “How many?”

Lassie puts up three.

“Show me your fingers any time, I’m always looking. I never close my eyes,” he says, and his voice is full of conviction. He says it one more time just to drive it home, “I’m _always_ looking, Lassie. Always.” 

Lassie puts a three. 

Shawn puts a hand square in the middle of his back and shoves him forward onto the bed. He lands in a heap of sheets and moans into the big red ball wedged in between his lips. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Shawn taps into the book he read this morning and gets to work typing Lassie up in intricate knots. First he hikes Lass's right leg up on the bed and loops the rope around his thigh and calf, paying attention to the amont of slack in the rope. He doesn’t want to cut off circulation, but he wants it to dig in just enough to leave a nice pattern behind. 

He binds the two together with three thick sections of rope going from knee to upper thigh,with circling knots in the middle. He tells Lass to move his leg and it comes out in an awkward swing as he moves it all together. 

“Hands behind your back, Angel. Now.” Shawn presses into the small of his back with his thumb. They come obediently and cross over each other. Shawn moves them so they’re side by side and lines up his forearms all the way up to the elbows. That’s where he starts his first loop around, binding him elbow to elbow, then down to his wirst to wrist. 

He squirms like a bug. Shawn flushes hot. 

His chest moves with him as he tries to get a hold of his arms, but there’s nowhere for him to go, and nothing for him to do. Shawn is imagining him getting up from bed and toppling over, or trying to hop on one foot, and stifling a laugh that he knows could ruin the whole thing. 

He can think about the neglected cock pressed inbtween Lassie’s hard abdomen and the bessheets instead. Lass isn’t getting any love on his cock tonight. How long can last without a touch? Shawn is going to find out the exact number. 

He runs his hands up from the cleft of his ass along his spine, palms flat, under and around his bound arms, and grips at his shoulders. He gets up, knees on the bed overtop of him, straddling his thighs, down low enough that he can still see his hands.

As soon as he presses his thumbs into the patch of muscle under his scapula, there’s a groan pouring out from under the gag. Three months as a masseuse in New Mexico didn’t amount to nothing. He crawls his thumb along the path of muscle as he digs into it. There’s one strip in the middle of the back, the upper, inner corner after the shoulder blade that's particularly and profoundly sensitive, and that’s exactly where he gets him. 

He digs his knuckle into that spot and watches Lassie’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“Number,” he whispers. He gets a three. 

“Gotta loosen you up, Lassie baby,” shawn cooes. He grinds his hard cock between his thighs as he starts his next motion rubbing tiny circles into a stiff knot under his shoulder blade. After a good while, he’s rubbed Lassie loose of his tension and left him with a pulsing soreness. 

He’s putty. 

Shawn leans over to the side table and rubs lube onto his cock. He grips it hard, pumps slow, lets himself enjoy the view underneath him. After a minute of stroking, he lets go and his cock plops down on Lassie’s ass, right in between his cute little cheeks. 

They look even better as he squeezes them together and fucks forward between them. Lassie is whimpering and wiggling, but Shawn can do whatever he wants because Lass can’t move a muscle. So he keeps thrusting on his ass, and then slaps his dick down over and over with a wet _Schlick._

Deciding he’s teased enough, he guides his cock down to the hole that’s begging for him, and slowly slides in. He groans at the tight feeling, and the sight of Lass stretching out around him. He’s getting him so wide; he’s taking it all. 

Shawn is thick. 

He buries himself to the hilt, stalls. Sits there on his knees with his cock filling Lassie up and appreciates it. This is a moment he knows he’s going to be replaying in his for years to come. 

He starts at a brutal pace. Keeps an eyes on those fingers. Using his right arm on the small of Lass’s back as leverage, he thrusts his hips forward hard. Lass rocks with the motion. He’s moaning, shaking, blabbering, and Shawn has only just gotten started. 

He continues fucking, then gets up, pulls him by the waist to the edge of the bed, lets his free leg stand on the floor, and keeps his bound leg on the bed. The leg on the floor is trembling. Shawn grabs at his bound forearms grips the rope as he fucks him again, this time even harder than before. 

Spit runs down his lips, chin, neck. He’s helpless to clean it up, and Shawn likes the way it glistens. 

“You like being my little doll, Lassie baby? You like me tying you up tight and fucking you senseless? Look at you, Lassie, you love it. God, you’re drooling. You’re doing so good,” he keeps an eye on his fingers. 

“Just let go, Sweetheart, I’m taking care of you.” He pumps in fast and hard. Lassie’s face is red and sweaty. Three. 

Three is a great number. 

Shawn’s close. Too close, so he pulls out. Lass is protesting under his gag but he shuts him up with a light smack to the ass and a, “Be patient, Sweetheart.” 

Lassie nods, sinks into the bed, waits. Shawn doesn’t start up again until he can control his breathing, then fucks Lass for another twenty minutes at various speeds and showering him in praise. 

At some point Lass goes limp and the only thing Shawn can get out of him is throaty moans and a three. Lassie is a big boy, and if he wants to be fucked silly, Shawn won’t take that away from him. He speeds up his pace, angles his cock, hits Lassie in what he remembers is _just_ the right spot. 

It’s the best use of his memory yet, he thinks. 

“Does my little slut want to cum?” He grips tighter on his thigh. 

Lassie thrusts his head up, moans around his gag, and opens his eyes for Shawn. They’re desperate, pleading, and so blue. 

“Mmh there’s my pretty blue eyes,” he smirks, “I don’t know if you deserve it. What do you think?” 

Lassie moans, wiggles, squirms. He can’t move a inch, can’t speak, can’t do anything but take what Shawn is giving him. 

“What’s that lassie? No answer? I guess you don’t want to cum…” 

A muffled moan, a sweaty forehead. Lassie is irresistible. 

Shawn fucks in hard and fast. “Okay, Bug. You’ve been a good boy for me. Come on and cum, go ahead, you deserve it.”

Lassie jerks a bit, his eyes roll, and there’s a wet spot underneath him. He came without touching his cock and it’s the hottest thing Shawn has _ever_ seen. He gives a few pumps to ride him through it, then climbs up the bed and spurts his load all over Lassie’s face. 

Cum drips lazily down his cheeks, over his nose, on his eyelids. There’s ropes of it all over. It’s possessive, claiming, and exactly what Shawn was craving. 

He bends down, kisses a clean part of Lass’s forehead and gets to work untying him. Even after he’s free, Lass is still laying limp on the bed so Shawn takes the liberty of stretching out his arms and legs. 

“Mmh, Shawn,” he murmurs. 

“Lassiepoo,” Shawn smiles. He lays down and cuddles up on Lass’s chest, nestles his head in the crook of his neck and wraps his arms tight around him. The chest hair scratching against him is heavenly. He grips at the back of his neck and pulls him closer than humanly possible. 

“You’re mine, Bug,” he whispers. 

“M’yours,” he slurs, “M’so tired. Feels’so good. Thank you.”

“Anytime Lassie, sweetheart, I got your back.” 

Lassie smiles; he can feel it against his neck. “M’gonna sleep.”

Only seconds go by before Lassie is snoring. 

“Oh.” he freezes. “Yep- Yeah.”

Shawn pulls a blanket up over him, washes the cum from his face, and goes. 

He wasn't asked to go, but he feels like he's intruding on something personal. (Personal in the way that a dick up the ass isn't, of course)

He’ll fix that eventually but tonight isn’t the night.


	8. Rivulets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter Shawn and Lassie tried bondage.

Tiny rivulets stare back at him from the bathroom mirror. Flashes of last night play out in his morning-brain. A warmth spreads inside him out from the core and into every last finger and toe. 

Being _wanted?_ It’s spectacular. It’s the missing link. It’s everything he never knew he wanted and now can never live without. It’s every chamber in his gun fully loaded and ready to go. It’s gay sex. Kinky gay sex. It’s better than any woman he’s ever had by far, and he’s scared shitless for what that means. 

Go figure that the one thing that would make him head-over-heals, finally-understanding-love-songs, _happy_ would be one thing that could destroy everything he’s been working at his entire adult life. 

It’s not a decision to make, really, which makes him breathe a sigh of relief, because him and Shawn aren’t a couple, so there’s nothing to decide. There’s nothing to make him the _gay cop_. There’s just not. 

Even though he wishes there were. 

He hasn’t felt this way since he was sixteen with shaking, sweaty palms in the back of Tanner Teleham’s dad’s Camero and trying not to acknowledge the way Tanner kept inching closer and closer like it was a perfectly okay thing for two teenage boys to do. God, he felt alive.

With a little introspection, he could understand that part of the reason he melted under those ropes- he touched his fingertips to the rivulets in gross fascination- was because they took away his ability to run. He has to take it. They made him feel trapped enough to fully surrender. 

That’s a lie, really, he _knows_ he doesn’t _have_ to. He’s got one finger and the color red sitting pretty on his tongue, but they just make him feel so out of control. When he’s tied up, gagged, told what to do— he’s not Carlton making the decision to be gay and ruin his life, he’s Lassie being a good boy. 

He just wants to forget about the fact that he can’t have what he wants, and have it anyway.

The pretty patterns— they are pretty, Lassie thinks— they stop a healthy distance above his sleeve cuffs, and a smile erupts on his lips for the umpteeth time this morning because there’s no way on God’s green earth that Shawn didn’t do that on purpose. 

Carlton isn’t stupid. He knows Shawn is an observant man. 

An observant man that seems to care about him even when he doesn't have to, even when he has no reason to. Even when it wouldn’t occur to most people what the bite of a rope would mean eight hours later while sitting at your desk acting like a normal person again. 

Sweet Justice, he’s so relieved he doesn’t have to worry about his cuffs riding up and the rivulets showing while he’s typing or drawing his gun that he could hug the next person he sees. He won’t, but he entertains the idea for a second.

They never discussed what was going to happen after the month mark, but Lassister has some inclination of what he wants. He has an inclination on what he needs, too, but that’s less than clear on this particular morning. 

Work is next. With Shawn’s observation he links his case together like a puzzle that was missing one piece, and has it wrapped up by the end of the next day. He’s proud of himself and he’s proud of Shawn, even if he does think it was a lucky find. 

By the end of the day the station is buzzing with news about him closing the case that was stumping everyone and there’s more pats on the back than he knows what to do with. Even a rep from the mayor’s office stops by to acknowledge Lassiter’s efforts in wrapping the case up quickly, and most importantly, discreetly. (A town like Santa Barbara is no place for business like _incest_ , the rep whispers behind a closed door) 

Lassiter nods, accepts the praise, feels like he’s getting somewhere, or at the very least, he’s getting noticed, and being noticed by the mayor is never a bad thing to have up your sleeve.

There’s another case on his desk by end of day. It's nothing earth shattering and it can wait until the morning. He takes off by eight, which is still later than when ninety percent of the office leaves, but he considers it reasonable, as there’s so much to get done and it rests mainly on his head-detective-shoulders. 

. . . 

One hundred and ten degree fahrenheit is the max temperature for a hot shower. Lassiter turns it up all the way. It’s not enough to scald his skin as much as it feels like it. Worries wash off him with the soap and he steps out into the foggy bathroom with loose muscles and warm skin. 

He’s on his couch with his feet kicked up and a beer in hand when his cell starts ringing. It’s Shawn. He picks it up immediately. 

“Hey, Lassie,” his voice comes through the phone smooth like butter. It’s exactly what Lassiter wants to hear at this particular moment. He rubs his thumb absentmindedly over his wrist where the rivulets used to be. 

All Lassiter can get out is: “Shawn.”

He doesn’t know why that makes Shawn laugh, but it does, and he gets cagey for a second before Shawn starts talking again. “How’d the case, Lassie? I saw the news.”

“I got the sonofabitch.” Lassiter smiles at the memory of the cuffing him. He can almost feel the metal in his hands. 

“I’m so proud of you.”

Shawn has _no_ right to makes his stomach feel like _that._

Like butterflies. 

Why doesnt he say anything back? Say thank you, at least, say-

“So that means you’re free then? Am I coming over tonight?”

That’s an idea. The best idea he’s heard all day, but, “Sorry, Shawn, not tonight. It’s late and I have to be up early in the morning. I wish you could, I uh.”

“You miss me don’t you?” Shawn is grinning on the other side of the line.

Lassiter doesn't know why he scoffs, but he does. “No.”

“I miss you too, Lassie. And you know what? I got something for you. I left it under that boot bench thing. You know, the thing with the shoes? What’s that called? I don’t know.”

“It’s an entry hall bench. When did you put something there? Were you in my apart-”

“No, no. I totally could, but no. Ropes and a gag weren’t the only things I brought the other day. I want you to use it tonight, Bug. Call me tomorrow at noon and tell me how it tastes.” A click, and the line is dead. 

Immedietly he gets up, goes straight for the boot bench thing- no, the entry hall bench. Looks inside, thought it was going to be a melted carton of ice cream or a bag of skittles. Was not expecting… that. 

Ho, boy. That’s a dildo. A thick rainbow dildo. (Did it have to be rainbow?)

It’s heavy in his hand, heavier than it has the right to be, and he brings it to the coffee table. Then he thinks better of it and brings it to the sink. After lathering it in soap and rising it clean he puts it back on the coffee table and stares. 

It’s not going to say anything. It's not going to move. It’s just sitting there looking so… 

Well, it’s looking like a rainbow dildo. He made the decision as soon as he saw it that he was going to suck the thing. There wasn’t any question about it, especially when Shawn told him to. He hasn’t defied any of Shaw’s orders yet, and he isn’t going to start now, not with ‘Good boy’ running circles in his mind in the smooth voice that he’s come to crave. 

First he bends over, gets close. It’s an awkward angle. He feels more at home on his knees, and then he’s down level with the dildo starting it right in the eye. Tentatively, he starts with a lick. It tastes like plastic but he wasn’t expecting anything else. 

Last time he blew Shawn he tried his hardest but couldn’t even get half of him down. He’s going for at least half this time, maybe more. His lips wrap around the tip and he sinks down until he can feel it bump against the back of his throat. A cough, sputter, and he’s sucking in breath again, but he doesn’t let up. He’s back with his mouth halfway down again and pressing forward like he’s trying to prove something to every stripe of color on there.

Then he hits the back of his throat and he’s a gonner. Gagging starts, wracks his chest, makes him pull off and recuperate. Sucking cock should be an olymic sport, he thinks, and he’s suddenly in awe of everyone he’s watched effortlessly suck down a cock from behind a computer screen. And his ex. He’s regretting every time he took a blowjob for granted. 

After it subsides, he tries again, gets the same result. The fifth time he tries he focuses hard on stomaching the feeling and he stills with it there pressed up against his throat. He's not gagging and that makes him grin like a maniac, which, in turn, makes him gag.

But then he’s got the hang of it, and he’s sucking down the dildo at a steady pace, getting his lips three quarters of the way down, and it’s really rather soothing. Shawn’s presence registers somewhere in his head and he’s imagining the way he feels, the timbre of his voice, and the electricity of his touch. He imagines the praise that he would give, places that he would slap, and things that he would make him say out loud.

Lassiter is sucking and bobbing his head, completely lost in it. That’s probably what Shawn wanted. He can’t wait to see Shawn again and show him what he learned. As much as he’s salivating over the pressure of the dildo sliding down his throat, there’s nothing that could compare the velvety smooth, thick weight of a cock, and, most importantly, the salty, musky taste. Shawn’s taste, really. That’s what he’s trying to channel as he throats his new rainbow dildo and moans into his apartment like a slut.

No, like a good boy, like a squirmy little Bug. His cock is begging for attention, has been since he first laid eyes on his new toy. He slips his hand down his SBPD joggers and grips tightly, uses his own spit as lube. Every stroke is expressive and sharp. Green little numbers on his DVD player blare 10:45 into the room, and he knows he has to wrap it up soon or he’ll be useless in the morning. He squeezes tighter, goes faster, pushes the dildo farther down until he’s tasting the hint of a gagging spell, but he holds steady and bobs his head in short, deep motions. 

He’s imaging Shawn’s thighs, Shawn’s eyes, Shawn's taste. He’s nearly worshipping him and he doesn’t care. He chokes out his name with the dildo pressing against the back of his throat and his hand working tirelessly between his legs as his hips stutter forward and he cums. 

He sleeps well. 

The morning bites him with a cold chill but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s got hot coffee burning his hand and affection burning his chest. 

Vic meets him at his desk before he can sit down and she’s shoving a file in his hand, an oddball case with a mummy, and Lassiter feels the twinges of annoyance start to creep into his peripherals, but then she says something even more odd: “Come to my office, I have something important to tell you.” 

It’s not the words that set him off, it’s the inflection. It’s the way her eyes shifted from side to side unable to land on anything and the skittish way her hands kept smoothing down her blazer. She’s got something big. 

He hopes the mummy case has some sort of national importance; maybe he can collaborate with Egypt or wherever the hell the thing came from. 

Probably just Washington DC if he’s being honest, and more specifically the National Museum of Science. A man can dream, though. 

He follows her inside, and Lucinda isn’t far behind either. She takes up a spot right next to him. Too close, he notes, and shifts to the side, then sits. 

She sits too, and Vic clears her throat. “Listen, detectives. This isn’t easy to say, so I’m going to come right out with it. I took this position six months ago with the expectation that the ‘interm’ would fall off my title after some time. As you know, that has not yet been the case. I’ve spoken with the Mayor and given him an ultimatum that I be instated by the end of the month, and that date has come and passed.” 

“You’re leaving?” Lucinda tilts her head and cradles her hands in her lap. “You can’t leave.” 

“I will be leaving. Unfortunately, the mayor chose not to respond to my request, and so I’m transferring to Goleta. I’ll be out in two weeks time.”

Lassiter shifts, crosses his legs, leans back and rubs his hand rough over his forehead. “Wait… so you’re saying, the position is available?” 

Vic’s head shoots up and her eyes bore into him, a morbid intensity, and boarding on the edge of incredulity. 

“Yes, Detective Lassiter. That is correct.”

Lucinda is rolling her eyes next to him but he doesn’t see nor care. “And has anyone put my name in?” 

Vic groans, pinches the bridge of her nose and says in the least exasperated voice she can muster, “You’ll be considered.”

Lassiter frowns and nods, absentmindedly runs his thumb over his wrist, tracing the ghost of a pattern. Considered. Great. 

Not _great_ , great, because Vic is, was, an honorable Chief, but he’s got aspirations of his own and this is the perfect opportunity to realize them. Youngest head detective, and he can see it now: youngest chief of police, Carlton Lassiter, SPBD. 

It has a nice ring to it, he thinks. 

“That’s all,” she says, cutting like sharp ice into his warm, comforting thoughts. 

Lucinda looks at him, gets up and waits for him by the door. 

He has a mummy to find.


	9. C Vic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Shawn gave lassie a colorful gift and lassie learned that Chief is stepping down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you all may have noticed from my previous chapters, this is very AU! I'm diverging a lot from canon in the next few chaps even though it's still set in the 'early days psych' time period. Anyways, don't except cannon!

The first thing about Lassiter’s impeccable track record is that it didn't come by chance. He’s a workhorse in the field. He’s got ambition busting out from the seams and he channels it seamlessly into his cases. 

Leads grow likes weeds, springing up wily and with no regard to the direction he’s going. They slither out from a crack in the sidewalk, a shady path in the dirt that shouldn’t support life, but does. 

The case doesn’t makes sense, but it does. A mummy rising from its sarcophagus is straight bull, but it is gone, and he’s going to find it. He clings on to the ivory chip in the colt 95 and homes in on it because he can spot a weed when he sees one and he’s ready to pull it out, roots and all. 

There’s not only the mummy, either. He’s knee deep in trying to prove William Wyles III’s death was no accident. He’s standing in a dirty yard full of weeds with two glove clad hands and he's ready to clear out. 

By midday he’s got an APB out on Hastings, the night guard with a criminal record, and he retreats to his desk while the scene plays out. Half a cup of sugar infused coffee later Lucinda is leaning up against the side of his desk clicking her pen, staring at the top of his head, and he’d prefer if she didn’t, but there she is. 

“What?” he says. 

“You look hungry.” She clicks. “How about lunch?”

Lassiter shrugs; he’s not in the mood. He would rather bust ass now and eat later. 

“Come on, partner. You haven’t eaten today.”

He doesn’t look up, hopes she’ll leave if he doesn’t give her anything to go on. “I had coffee,” he says.

She leans in closer. She’s not taking the hints like he hoped. He can’t lash out at her either because he’s gone through two partners already and he needs to check his attitude before he scares her off too. “Coffee isn’t food.” She clicks her pen and brings it to her mouth, chewing on it like it hasn’t been in who knows how many indeterminate locations in the last day or so. 

Germs, he sneers. That’s disgusting. 

She pouts, and maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to push people away after all. But people have never taken much of a liking to him here and it’s never bothered him before. He doesn’t need people to like him, he just needs them to respect and obey him. Fear him, even, he’ll take that over doe eyes and water cooler gossip. 

She goes away wordlessly, sits back down at her desk, and makes one final glance to him before pulling a granola bar out of her desk drawer and eating it while filling out paperwork. 

Lassiter forgoes the food, but someone is knocking on the door of his mind and he’s got a vague idea of who’s there. 

Lunch time means noon. Noon means calling Shawn. Calling Shawn means talking about that _gift_ , and he stands up, ramrod straight with a faint blush, and excuses himself to the bathroom. 

He can’t talk to Shawn in the bathroom though, there’s so many officers going in and out of there he couldn’t have even one minute of privacy. He wouldn’t dare having this conversation in one of the interrogation rooms, any empty offices, or outside in the courtyard, so he heads out to his Crown Vic and climbs inside. 

The leather seats are freezing and he feels like a teenager sneaking away to get in the kind of trouble his parents tried to keep him out of. Or would, if they ever cared, or were even around. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about his deadbeat father now, though, so he shoves it from his mind, fishes his cell phone out and stares at the screen. Shawn’s number stands out; he hasn’t programmed it in yet but he recognizes it by sight now which produces a twist in his stomach that he would rather not acknowledge. 

“Shawn?” As if anyone else would answer. 

“Lassie! You called,” he says back with an obvious smile on his lips. “I was beginning to think you forgot about me.”

“How could- no, I didn’t.” Shawn caught that, he’s sure, but he can’t take it back now. “Sorry, I’m late. Busy day here.”

“No, I get it. Work comes first.” That line may be even more twisty in his stomach than admitting that he hasn’t stopped thinking about him every time he gets a free moment. 

Lassiter sort of grunts in agreement, then shifts in his seat nervously. He has never felt so uncomfortable in his own car before, it’s almost as if he’s sitting in some stranger's car where all the buttons and dials are different, the seat a little bit too low, and the mirror not quite catching the angle of the rear traffic. 

“So…” he’s saying. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” 

“Don’t okay games, Lassie. Tell me how it was.”

He flushes. He doesn’t want to be the first one to _say_ it, but he has the sinking feeling that that’s going to be exactly what happens. 

He bites his lip. “It was… good.”

Thinking back on it, he should be jumping into this conversation head first; it’s been on his mind ever since he finished with the thing and the thought of being forced to talk about it was almost as good as the act itself. Something about the way Shawn gets things out of him has him feeling like he replaced all the thorny uncomfortable feelings with plushy warm ones. 

Shawn doesn’t speak for once in his life, or so long as Lassiter has known him anyway, and it fills the phone line with tension. 

“I gagged,” he says. 

Shawn _laughs_. It’s sweet, though, low and flirty. 

“It’s _rainbow_.” That’s an accusation.

“It is. It reminded me of you,” he says, the bastard. “I’m winking right now, by the way.”

“”There’s nothing rainbow about me,” Lassiter scoffs. 

“I beg to differ.”

Talking with Shawn is akin to sparring. It’s flighty, tense, and holding a prize for the winner at the end. 

“Did you think about me?” Shawn is definitely in the lead. 

“Yes,” he chokes out. He runs a palm down to his knee and tries to focus on that. “I did.”

“Say it. Tell me what you did, Sweetheart.” Shawn isn’t just winning: he’s going for the kill. 

Just like always, or at least always when it involves Shawn, Lassiter backs down, gives up, lets him grab first place, and takes second with a smile. “I practiced sucking on the dildo and I was thinking about you the whole time,” he whispers. “I got down pretty far. I, uh… I can’t wait to show you.”

“Aw Lassie,” Lassiter’s face is burning. “I don’t know if I have more of a hard on or a heart on.”

“What—” he scoffs. 

“A heart on, Lass, cause you’re so sweet even when you’re talking about sucking cock.” 

“I’m not sweet,” he says. 

“No, you are. It’s manly though, don’t worry. It works for you. I like it. Did you cum?” 

Lassiter is about to bark out some defensive quip but he falters and thinks about feeling his cock pulsing in his hand while his lungs are burning and his jaw stretched wide. 

Then the cum sticky on his fingers, and, “Earth to Lassie?”

Right— “Yes, Shawn.” 

Shawn’s back with another filthy laugh, haughty, low, insinuating. “There he is,” he says. 

Lassiter has been here the whole time, though, so he chooses to ignore whatever it is that means. 

“Such a good boy, Lass.” He closes his eyes and listens to Shawn's voice as he says it. “So good, I’m so proud of you, my sweet—”

 _BANG BANG_

“Carlton? Hello?” Lucinda is leaning down, peering into the car, stealing his privacy second by second- it feels like nails of a chalkboard- he snaps his head up and straightens himself out. 

“What, Barry?” he barks. 

It’s muffled through the window, but she says, “I thought you were busy? You said you couldn’t do lunch? What are you doing out here? Are you just sitting in your car?” She’s not even phased by the fact that he’s resorted to using her last name. She’s too busy nosing into his private life to realize what a horrible inconvenience she’s being. 

“I’m—” He doesn’t have a good reason. 

“You left your jacket in the car,” Shawn says through the phone suddenly, and Lassiter realizes he’s still got it pressed up to his ear. The horrible duality of this situation hits him like a bullet and tears right through him. He’s got one life, staunchly, straight laced and always in control, and then he’s got _Shawn_ on the opposite end, his sweet, comforting private life in which he gets to be anything and nothing, and he doesn’t have to tell a soul.

But here in his cold Crown Vic that’s looking more like his by the second, with Lucinda narrowing her eyes at him while she shivers outside in the November air and Shawn waiting patiently on the other side of the line for him, he feels like throwing up, or maybe throwing something heavy. 

“I left my jacket in my cart, Detective. I don’t have time for lunch, I said no,” he spits. “You didn’t need to follow me out here.”

He wants that to be a warning, an accusation, and a hint. She takes at least one of them, because she stands straight without another word and scurries back towards the precinct with a mousy look on her face. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts. 

“No problem, Lassiepoo. Duty calls.”

“It wasn’t- it wasn’t work. Just my partner butting into my business,” he says. 

He’s quiet for a few too many seconds, and then, “She likes you, you know.”

That is not what he wanted to hear, not at all, and the twisting in his stomach turns sour. “No—“

“Yes,” he laughs. “She totally does, Lass. It’s cute you can’t see it.”

He huffs. Lucinda doesn’t _like_ him. Partners are just close. It’s a different kind of relationship. You put your lives in each other's hands on a daily basis and you have to communicate if you want to make any progress. She is, admittedly, kind of suffocating. 

“You know,” he continues. “I like your gruff cop voice. It’s sexy, all mean and manly.”

“It’s _detective_ —” he starts, but Shawn knows that, and he’s trying to get a rise out of him. “I have to get back to work.”

“Awh, Okay. Bye, Lassie,” he says. 

He can’t help it; the scowl melts away and he’s smiling again. “Bye, Shawn.”

He gets back into the station and Lucinda is staring at him, his stomach is rumbling, and Buzz is walking up to him with something to say. Normally he’d be annoyed but he doesn’t want to be left alone next to his partner so he _smiles_ at him. 

Buzz looks bewildered. He swallows and stutters but says, “We got a hit on the, uh, APB, Sir.”

“Call me when they bring him,” he's scowling, far more gruff, and Buzz looks far more at ease. That’s what you get for messing with the flow. People don’t like when you mess up the flow. People are who they are and don’t you go changing. 

“Well that’s the thing, Sir, they finally found the car but no Hastings. Not at his residence, either.”

“Useless,” Lassiter grumbles, and Buzz is hightailing out of his vicinity. He takes the extra time to scour through the Wyles III files.


End file.
